Rapture oh Rapture
by MarxProtector123
Summary: John Buchanan, a musician out of luck, is invited to Rapture, an underwater utopia where all his desires turn into reality. Yet not all is what it seems. He begins uncovering the many secrets that define the city and discovers the actual reasons for his invitation.
1. Chapter 1

**Rapture Oh Rapture**

Prologue

1957

 _No God or Kings, Only Man,_ a saying of mine that I have repeatedly told myself over and over again. It was the epitome of what I had believed in, what I wanted to believe. It just could not be.

My office was cold and dark, the lights were dimmed and the room completely mute. The time seemed appropriate, so I pulled out a cigar. I lit it and puffed out large visible patterns of smoke that slowly faded in the distance, wondering if there was some sort of symbolic residue behind all that smoke.

At one point I greatly opposed the usage of smoking, not because of some ignorant parasite showing us the ridiculous health risks of doing so, but because of where the tobacco came from. My nemesis, the scum of the Earth, the parasite that attempted to destroy all I held dear. Even in death his presence still lurked the halls of my city, stirring doubt and discontent amongst the masses, staining my image and the principles that held this city together. He was a hoodlum no doubt, but the most dangerous type of hoodlum, the type with vision.

What this has taught is simply how dangerous an idea can be. You can kill the man; he is simply flesh and bones that can be penetrated by a bullet. But the idea is one that is ever lasting and I daresay divine. It spreads like a plague with no cure, there is no stopping it, all you can do is delay the inevitable. But I will prevail! This city will prevail! It has shown time and again its ability to persevere and this is no exception. We will move on, but first there were a few loose ends that must be taken care of; a few that I will personally oversee.

I started to hear the thumping of feet and loud moans that were drawing closer to my office. The moaning became more apparent to the point where I could not hear myself think. Two men entered my office dragging a bloodied man with a bag over his head. He was struggling, using every ounce of energy to agitate me.

"You can continue this pestilent moaning", I said. "Of course by doing so you only prolong the suffering. Maybe you can be part of Sander Cohen's muse; I hear he is in need of extra bodies".

The moaning stopped and the room once again fell into silence.

"Take it off", I told one of my guards.

What I saw under that bloodied piece of cloth was not a man but a worn out punching bag. His face was swollen and bleeding in a few areas. There is only so much that the human body can take when receiving a beating, but we certainly did not break him.

He looked at me and his eyes widened. They glistened with hatred and envy towards me.

"You know who I am", I said

"Yes", he said in an English accent giving off a smirk, "Andrew Ryan, the bloody king of Rapture."

He was trying to make me elicit an emotional reaction; I would not satisfy his need.

"Is it your majesty or your highness? Cuzz I personally can't tell the difference anymore with you. 'Oh free market this, free market that' it was all a bunch of gibberish wasn't it", he started saying in a more serious tone.

I ignored these belligerent statements and went on with my case, "You were a known associate of Frank Fontaine's and have been trying to rejuvenate his smuggling ring these past few months, you and other parasites whose names we do not have at this instance, if you cooperate, I can see to it that all charges against you will be dropped, of course this does mean permanent exile, it's all up to-"

He began to laugh hysterically, "Dear lord it's true what they say about you isn't it, the founder and advocate of excessive freedom becomes a godless monarch. How he now extends his hand throughout the entire bloody kingdom. Well to sum up those terms you so kindly presented to me ,I'll have to decline you miserable twat".

The room fell into an eerie silence and then he began to speak again.

"What happened to you, a man all about humanity having the freedom to go after their passions without societal jibber jabber. Then what, Frank Fontaine expands his market and because you feel a bit threatened by his "empire", you put him down. You're not a man of the people, hell you're no better than those you say are parasites. So would you kindly go fuck yourself".

Another stern silence precipitated across the room, only this time my anger was apparent and he saw it. I dropped the cigar, took a few steps and went behind him so I can face his back. I put my hand on his shoulder, leaned forward and said, "See if you were a resident here, then it would be obvious to you that there is no God down here, no miracles, no pleas answered through prayer. There are only your actions and the consequences of those actions. Unfortunately for you, the magnitude of your choices is far too great to ignore."

I came closer to him and whispered in his ear, "You come to my city, start uproar amongst my people, and rekindle a crime ring in the name of my greatest adversary? You're not a hero, you're not even a parasite, you're a rube."

I walked to my desk, opened the drawer and pulled out my revolver. The rube's eyes widened for a split second but he was calm once again and smiled, "A beheading would be more appropriate, don't' ya-"

 _BANG_

One shot entered his forehead and he collapsed on the floor. Blood was gushing out of his head and dripping right on my marble floor.

"Get him out of here", I told my two guards.

"Should we send him to the Department Store? You know, to show how wrong it is to go against you?" One of the guards asked.

I looked at him in disbelief and frustration, "Who do you think I am, some authoritarian figure that exerts his rule through terror? Do you think I have forgotten the very principles I founded this city on?"

"Of course not I just-"

"Get out", I sternly said

They both left the room, dragging the body and leaving a trail of blood in the hallway. I am surrounded by ignorant buffoons who cannot think for themselves. I bring the greatest artists and scientists in the world here in my city and surround myself with ruthless idiots. They perform their duties admirably, but make for terrible conversation partners.

And here I am in my office alone once again. I light another cigar and stare at the pile of blood in my office. I puff out more clouds of smoke that just fade away into the distance. Welcome to my Utopia. Welcome to Rapture.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

December 1957

Thirty minutes. Thirty minutes away and I was in the middle of the god forsaken Atlantic with a thunder storm at it for two days. Worse, I was only thirty minutes away from my destination. It had been nearly a week since I had seen some solid ground or had a proper rest. This storm has been brewing waves higher than my damn house. I cannot even have a proper drink without the boat rocking and causing a mess.

I put on my coat and went outside my cabin to have a talk with the captain. I opened the door; rain accompanied by large gusts of wind started pouring onto my bed before I had a chance to close the door. I went outside and panicked. The view outside of the ship was my version of a horror film. The likes of which neither Frankenstein or Dracula could capture. An insurmountable amount of fright began to swell into me as I stared into the barren wilderness. Not only was there a powerful thunder storm complemented by strong winds and rain, but the entire area was covered in a thick fog, allowing me to only see what was thirty feet in front of me. I could not figure out whether or not there was any land nearby.

I could not go back home. I spent every bit of money I had on this trip. Where ever it led me, it would either end up being my safe haven or my undoing, in which case I would go back home and lose everything.

Oh life as a musician was grand. A few years back I was making a fine living; worked in a high end club as a pianist in a jazz band and played original compositions that would always soothe the nerves of customers. Then the Cold War escalated, the younger generation lost interests in things like jazz, paintings, even movies. The club closed and I lost my job. It was only then I realized just how cruel the world was. Bills passed and the government regulated more and more businesses, meaning artists, musicians and creative movie makers were less in demand while nuclear scientists, mathematicians, and analysts were very much needed by those federal monopolizers. Nowhere was I able to find a job and eventually I started living with my parents. It was only by chance that a stranger I met in the bar told me about this place where finding a job would never be an issue; he then gave me a set of coordinates. I was so enthralled to go that I never even thought that this could be a hoax.

"Damnit John, what were you thinking?" I said to myself.

I finally got to the bridge where the captain and a few of his other mates were. They looked at me grimly.

"Storm isn't cooling down is it", I said to the crew

"Mr. Buchanan, we're here", The Captain said sternly

"What? This can't be right, I don't see anything", I said looking out the window.

There was nothing, nothing out there but fog, rain and ocean. Not even a rock hanging in the distance.

"Check again, come on, this can't be right", I said anxiously

The captain rolled his eyes in frustration gave me a scrap of paper then said, "63° 2' N, 29° 55' W, that's where you told me to go and here we are, you wanna tell me you can read this stuff better than me?"

"No it's just-"

"This is the place", He said

I was in shock, complete and utter shock. I gambled everything I had for this establishment to be real. Now here I was on the floor, about to have an anxiety attack. The captain and his crew tried to calm me down, but there was only so much sympathy they would garner for a fool.

"I mean what did you expect?" The Captain told me."You just went up to me with six hundred dollars and directions without saying to yourself 'what is this place? Does it exist'? I told you there was nothing charted there but you just handed me the cash and here we are, done deal".

The captain went on and on with his lecture but I was so delirious I could not hear a word of what he was saying. Actually I was so delirious that I saw a light in the distance. I laughed a little and the crew grew a little more resentful of me.

I laughed even harder this time and said, "And now I'm seeing lights, Hah! I think this means I'm dying"

As I continued to laugh in pain, the crew turned around and to their disbelief there was a light! By seeing their expressions I realized I was not imagining it. There was a powerful beam of light, sixty feet high in the air.

"That's not possible," the captain said, setting a course towards it.

As we got closer, the fog started to clear, a tall cylinder like building began to appear, it seemed to be floating on water until I realized it was sitting on a small island that was mostly submerged. But the entirety of the building was still on the surface.

"It's a lighthouse", I said surprised and mildly confused

"It seems to be just that", But why is it all the way out here?" said the captain, "There isn't land for another hundred miles".

"Beats me, drop me off over there", I told the captain

"What?" He said in disbelief "Do you have a death wish?"

"Less so here than back at home, just drop me off there, please" I said insistently

"You're the boss I suppose", the captain said cautiously

As we came closer I noticed that this was not your typical lighthouse, apart from it being in the middle of the Atlantic. The light did not act as a spotlight; there was no concentrated beam in any single particular direction. It acted more like a beacon, maybe for sailors to find. Even the architecture of the building was much different. It was grander, larger than any lighthouse I had ever seen before. It was composed mainly of metal rather than wood. The door was huge, it had a gold relief of a sort of symbol, and I could not make it out from this distance, but it reminded me of the doors you would see in churches, grand in size and design with arches on top. On the top there was a statue of an angel that was supporting the light; I could not make out the meaning of such a thing.

But something felt wrong. The building gave off an ominous feeling. The black metal exterior of the lighthouse seemed cold and empty. Something about it made me feel isolated, alone, even afraid.

We arrived at the dock, or in this case, stairs. The captain gave me a rope; I climbed down the ship and reached the staircase. Along with that he threw down my luggage which I caught.

"We'll be heading out now", the captain screamed, "this place looks pretty fruitless, come back with us, last chance".

"If it turns out to be fruitless expedition, then don't fret, I'll just dig my own grave and you can come back to bury me", I said, trying to be amusing. He looked at me in disbelief, shook his head, and left.

The ship started sailing away. It slowly started to disappear into the fog, gradually fading into the distance until, nothing. No sign of the ship or any other life. I was alone.

Everything began to change. The raindrops felt heavier and louder with each _bang_ that hit the floor. The thunder increased in both volume and frequency, deafening my ears with each roar that came out of the sky. There was so much confusion, so much noise. Everything began to blur.

I gathered my luggage and walked up the staircase. When I came to the door, I saw that it was already open from one side. I took a peek to see what is inside and to my horror; I was not able to see a thing. It was completely dark. The rain drops felt less intense, the thunder less frequent as my attention was drawn away from the loud ambiance. What could be behind those doors?

I stepped into the lighthouse, hoping to see some shard of light but there was nothing, just an unnatural silence creeping in, taking the place of the thunderstorms mood. A noise came from the door; I looked behind me and saw it close itself shut. No longer could I hear the intense rainfall, or the deafening thunder. Everything was completely hushed.

"Hello", I screamed out in anticipation, my voice echoing throughout the building, hoping for there to be an answer, "It's John Buchanan, I think you were expecting me?"

 _SHINNNGGGG_

Lights suddenly began to turn on, one at a time.

 _SHINNNGGGG_

 _SHINNNGGGG_

Suddenly everything was visible, and the first thing that caught my eye was a large statue that stood right in front of me. It was a large hanging bust of a man. He had a very pronounced moustache and commanding stature. He wore a suit and it looked like he was in his mid-forties. He was carrying a large banner. The wording on it spelled ' _No God, or King, only Man'_. Then music starts to play from some distant speaker, an instrumental song. It had slow melodic violin strokes along with corky off beat guitar strings that really soothed my nerves, a false sense of relief I suppose.

I looked away from the statue and to my astonishment the entire upper part of the building was empty. No staircase, no rooms, just a grandiose statue of this man.

Fortunately for me there was a staircase that went downwards, so I started my dissent into the unknown. As I walked down the stairs more lights started to turn on automatically. It was a thing of wonder and fright. Part of me believed that I was controlling the lights. With every step I took, my omnipotent presence controlled everything around me; from the door closing to the lights turning on. Another part of me felt like these forces controlled me. The door representing that I had no way out, the lights controlling every footstep that I took in its path. It was a frightening prospect, the lack of control over your own actions or body. I can hardly imagine a human without an independent mind.

I finally reached the bottom of the staircase. The room was dark, the lights did not turn on automatically, and suddenly I did not feel so omnipotent anymore. I took a few footsteps forward.

 _SHIINNNNNGGG_

 _SHIIIIINNNNGGG_

Everything was clear and became visible. Right in front of me was a red carpet that led me, in my bewilderment, to a submarine. It was a round, small thing. At most it could hold six people. The front opened itself and inside was a circular sitting booth that was completely red and made of leather. In the center of the booth was a lever, probably to activate the sub. Next to it was a sign pointing towards it. It stated 'step inside Bathysphere'.

Christ, there was no turning back, nowhere else to go. It was either this or I start digging my grave. I stepped inside the bathysphere, the door slammed itself shut and the latch locked itself. I took a good look at the lever, put my hand on it, and turn the sub on.

With a quick push, the sub started to shake and I grabbed onto a hand rail to keep my balance. I looked out the window and saw that I had already descended underwater with rapid velocity. While going deeper underwater, I saw schools of fish, more than I ever seen in my life. They were swimming in large packs. I only got to see them for a few second as I continued to go under. To my surprise I entered a tunnel, manmade and gracefully designed; the size was perfect for the sub. In it were advertisement posters all around the tunnel. I couldn't see a single one because the bathyspher was moving too quickly.

Suddenly it stopped. I saw one of the posters and it showed an elegant container carrying a red liquid. The poster read 'Plasmids, Evolution in a Bottle, By Ryan Industries.'

I was not given enough time to understand what I just saw because the sub quickly turned around, started moving once more and then everything became dark again. I could not see anything from the window. Suddenly a movie projector turned on and a screen appeared right in front of me. Music came on, but it was not like the one in the lighthouse, this was a patriotic sort of music, the sort that you would typically have to stand up for in a classroom. The screen first showed a one dimensional version of a the lighthouse I was just at, then popped up another advertisement, this time of a man holding fire on his fingertip and helping a woman light her cigarette, it said 'Fire at Your Fingertips, Incinerate, By Ryan Industries'. Then the music stopped and the frame changed again, this time showing a picture of the man that statue tried to portray, sitting in a leather chair wearing a suit and giving me a very stern look.

" _I am Andrew Ryan, and I am here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? No says the man in Washington, it belongs to the poor, no says the man in The Vatican, it belongs to God, No Says the man in Moscow, it belongs to everyone. I rejected those answers, instead I chose something different, I chose the impossible, I chose Rapture."_

The projector turned itself off and the screen went up. I looked at the window and saw an opening coming up from the tunnel. It drew closer and closer and finally, was out of the tunnel. My eyes widened in disbelief, I let out a gasp and almost fell to the floor. What I had saw changed my notion on what is and what isn't. God, science, government it all seemed irrelevant right now, I could not fathom this… a city in the bottom of the ocean.

It was Manhattan underwater, only bigger than Manhattan, the buildings taller than anything in Manhattan. There were skyscrapers everywhere. The sub moved closer to the city and as I went past different buildings, I noticed each was connected through walkways and tunnels that were filled with people moving from one building to another. Neon blue spotlights were scattered throughout, along with statues, not of Ryan, but of a strong nude man pulling his arms apart and breaking his chain. Each building had glowing signs or figures that advertised a different business, giving full meaning to the expression 'The Sweat of your Brow'. Andrew Ryan's audio continued while roaming around Rapture.

 _A city where the artist would not fear the censor. Where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality. Where the great would not be constrained by the small. And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well._

My tour was coming to a close. Now I was headed into another tunnel that led into one of the buildings. Bewilderment, fright, desire, happiness; every possible emotion the humans were capable of carrying I embodied fully at that second. What was waiting for me up there? Who was waiting for me up there? What in God's name was this place?

As I went through the tunnel, neon words started lighting up. It read

 _All Good Things_

 _Of This Earth_

 _Flow_

 _Into The City_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2

I was now ascending inside the buildings bathysphere station. As I progressed further into the building, more posters advertising that strange liquid began to appear. Plasmid this, plasmid that, evolution in your fingertips that. It seemed like the only thing this city was selling, all from Ryan Industries, quite a monopoly this fellow has.

"Mr. Buchanan?"

I jumped in disbelief, thinking there was an Englishman here hiding all this time in a claustrophobic submarine. I looked around to see where the source of the voice came from. How did he know my name? Unfortunately, that was the least of my worries, especially considering the series of events that had just befallen me.

"Hello?" Said the English voice again

This time I caught the source of the voice. It was a radio, shortwave frequency most likely, hanging on the wall of the bathysphere.

"Hi, yes I'm here", I said nervously

"To whom am I speaking to", Said the voice

"John Buchanan, are you expecting me?" I said

"Ah, very good, I will be with you shortly Mr. Buchanan" he said

"Okay where should we meet?"

There was no response from the radio this time. He most likely left wherever he was at to find me. But how did he know my name? Up until a few minutes ago I had never seen or heard of this place. Maybe the one who led me here told them of my coming. Who knows, maybe I will get some luxury VIP treatment. Or they'll send a hit squad after me for intruding in a secret lair of sorts.

The bathysphere stopped and then turned ninety degrees. I looked out the window and arrived at the entrance to underwater Manhattan. The hatch opened and I stepped through another red carpet in a narrow hallway. Only this time, the hallway was not covered in any sort of metal alloy, but rather plastered in red marble all around the walls, the floors, everywhere. It was beautiful, the colors of the marble were vivid and there were bright red lights focusing their gaze on particular areas that helped give contrast to the gaudy red. In the distance I started to hear music; vibrant, vivacious jazz. This was something I had not heard for a long time. With that I also heard a large number of people murmuring nearby. It was a combination of noises; the clinking of glasses, laughter, small talk; all in a large scale.

I was about to head to the direction of the noise, then a door suddenly opens from the other side. A short, proud looking man came out. He had piercing sideburns and clean cut hair. He wore a flamboyant white suit that I daresay took attention away from the rest of the room.

"Ah Mr. Buchanan, so delighted to have you, step into my office and we can begin Rapture's orientation process.", He said. His physique was not that impressive, nor his taste in style. He seemed to be in his early 50s. But he had a sophisticated mannerism and a rich accent. His entire image was a spitting contradiction.

"Of course, thank you…. What type of orientation exactly?"

"Why, for citizenship, of course, you must meet certain specifications before you are allowed to go any further, a necessary precaution we must take for all newcomers as of late". He said

"Oh, I see", I said nervously, I didn't know about any specifications. Then again I didn't know about any of this.

"Will that be a problem", He said

"No, God no, by all means interrogate me", I said laughing. To my bewilderment, though, he smiled. That's a first! Finally someone who understands my sense of humor! Five minutes and I already found this place more accommodating than anywhere else at home.

I stepped into his office, which I was completely baffled by. Red marble covered the entirety of the office, different pieces of abstract art hanging on his front wall. Even his office desk was impressive; it was made of rosewood and not a scratch or even a hint of dirt on it. I took a seat in what seemed to be a judge's chair; it was upholstered in leather and had the ability to rock. He took a seat in his judge's chair, took a few sheets of paper and a pen out, and then started my orientation/interview.

"Before we get started, I must inform you that the length of time we spend on each question mainly depends on your response. This can be a relatively simple matter that takes up a minuscule period of time. Or it can be a long and arduous process that takes hours on end, based off how stubborn you are with certain beliefs. It's all up to you". He said

"That's…. good to know" I said confused, not fully understanding what he meant by that

"Wonderful, let's begin" he said smiling, "What is your name?"

"John Patrick Buchanan"

"When were you born?"

"December 23rd, 1928"

"Do you have an education?"

"Yes, I went to Duke as an engineering major"

"What changed your mind?"

"Didn't find the field particularly fascinating"

"Good", he said while writing down his analysis of me

"Why did you become a musician?"

"Good wages and good company"

He looked at me with a disappointed glare, continued writing his analysis and then said, "A full answer Mr. Buchanan, you ought to be aware of why you chose such a field."

"I suppose so", I said letting off a rather large moan, "Music has a sort of spiritual essence, it enlightens the ears and makes us evoke emotions that we were not aware even existed. When listening to something aggressive, we feel invincible. When listening to something with a softer beat, it soothes our mind and we enter a zone of tranquility. When listening to something somber, we enter another realm of existence for a short period of time. Letting go of our comforts and exploring the tragic unknown. So you ask me why I became a musician. I wanted to make my mark, to create original pieces of music that would elicit that sort of effect on people, and it did for quite some time. But then things turned for the worst. One day the world decides to eat you up and be a part of its internal workings, then it shits me right out, all because of federal intervention on the private sector. That's why I'm here; I had nowhere else to go. Is that satisfying enough for an answer?"

He looked at me for a few seconds, then gave off a smile and went back to writing. We took a short twelve second break and continued on with the questioning

"Are you married?"

"No"

"Do you plan on getting married?"

"No"

"Why is that?"

"Requires dedication and commitment to your mate"

"Have you ever considered the prospect of having children?"

I laughed a little at this one "God, no"

"Why is that?"

"Requires an insurmountable amount of commitment towards useless undertakings"

"What is your affiliation with God?"

I paused here, dazed and confused on why a question like this was of any importance?

"I'm sorry can you repeat that?"

"What is your affiliation with God?"

I had to think about this one, God really hasn't been in my life for quite some time. Then again, whose life has he touched?

"I currently have no affiliation with God."

"Why is that?"

"We tend to have disagreements on a substantial number of issues"

He again gave me another glare of disappointment, accompanied with a little anger as well, he then said, "Look I've been doing this long enough to distinguish between the truthful heartfelt answers and the dishonest ones coming out of your duplicitous mouth. Right now I can be at a beautiful luxurious dinner party to celebrate the New Year's but here I am stuck with you. Your youth has passed; you have no excuse. Give me a legitimate reason to stay and let you in to this city. Make yourself interesting, and for god's sake tone down the arrogance."

That was unexpected, that statement was so aggressive it seemed to contradict his mannerisms. But he was right, I was bullshitting the hard ball questions. Instead of giving him genuine answers, I gave him smart ass remarks. He made me feel like a wandering child who was lost but was too proud to admit. It felt so demeaning that suddenly all the confusion in my head was gone and everything became clear.

"I don't have any affiliations with God, he tends to limit the artists ability for creative thinking all in the name of duty". I said proudly

He smiled again "That's a fairly thought-provoking statement, care to elaborate?"

"I took an art history course in graduate school. We studied many different art styles and the impact that different artists had in the world. The two major figures we ended up focusing on were Michelangelo and Leonardo Da Vinci. Both artists insurmountably influenced the art world, but Leonardo Da Vinci is still the most recognized artist of all time, and this was because he created the most famous painting of all time, Mona Lisa. Now the idea of this in itself completely baffled me. How can a 30 by 21 inch portrait painting be considered the best piece of art our world had to offer. I've personally seen many of Michelangelo's work such as the Sistine chapel or the statue of David and the technical prowess of his works astonish me to this day. So I decided to do research of my own, going to many libraries and reading a multitude of books on both Michelangelo's and Leonardo's work. I quickly became bored of the subject matter presented in many of Michelangelo's works as they were all paying tribute to stories in the Old Testament, stories in which I knew all too well, leaving no mystery to be found in any of his works. This is what happens when you are subject to the whims of the church. But then I began to do an extensive study on the Mona Lisa, and to my astonishment, there was very little information on the subject matter covering her. It was almost all theoretical. I visited France and started looking at the painting for days trying to uncover her mysteries. Her essence was captured perfectly; from the subtle smile to her gazing eyes. It evoked more curiosity out of me and I continue to this day to try to understand the mystery behind her smile and who she is . . . was that sufficient?"

He looked at me again and once again smiled, only this time he was not writing anything, he put his pen down and gave me his undivided attention. A large amount of pride was bubbling within me; I could not explain how I pulled out that information so seamlessly.

"Well I think that's enough for today, of course we'll have to continue this tomorrow", He said smiling at me, looking at me like I was a prodigy of sorts. "It was a pleasure meeting you John, my assistant is waiting outside to show you to your new living quarters."

"Thank you, I really appreciate this", I said trying to be earnest

"Think nothing of it", he said with a smile. A smile I was actually growing quite fond of.

As he was about to walk out, I blurted out, "Wait, I'm sorry I didn't get your name"

"Oh how silly of me", he said laughing, "William Firth, at your service"

"Pleased to make your acquaintance William", I said, shaking his hand, "Now before I go anywhere, you mentioned something about a New Year's Party?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3

William Firth led me through the marble hallways. Each one had large pressurized windows showcasing the different buildings that made up Rapture. The atmosphere was really something else. Aside from the fact that the city was underwater, it really was a testament of artistic prowess. Ornaments, abstract statues, radiating blue spotlights, and lighted neon shop signs filled the city and made what could have been a grim place into a lively one bustling with personality. There were more posters, only this time they were not just showcasing plasmids; one advertised facial surgery, another promoted something called The Oxford Club. It gave me an idea on just how diverse the market was here.

What was strange to me was how empty the welcome center was. The only person I saw in the entirety of my visit was Mr. Firth. Other than that it was unoccupied. But I heard music and people chatting in the distance. I suppose everyone was at the New Year's party.

The music grew louder with every step, along with the chattering of people. We took a left and now there were multiple hallways. One led to another bathysphere station, the other to the elevator room, and the last to a place called Kashmir Restaurant. We were heading to Kashmir. We walked a few more paces and no longer did I hear soft murmurs, but a loud vibrant crowd of people gathered together for a celebration. It felt familiar to the club I used to work at; the laughs, conversations, stirring music. I finally arrived at the entrance to The Kashmir; the hall was wider this time and had bushes in the center. It had a large neon sign that said 'Kashmir Restaurant' in elegant cursive. On top of the sign were multiple neon arches and flanking it were two nude female statues holding out service trays. On top of all of that was a giant arch that overlooked the front entrance.

"Here wear this", Mr. Firth said, handing me a bunny shaped mask that covered the top of my face, "Masks of invitation".

"Is this a masquerade?" I said tittering.

"Exactly that," He said while putting an elephant shaped mask on himself. "These masks are highly sought-after. I was going to give it to my wife, but she doesn't have the stomach for large public celebrations."

I was a bit bewildered "Oh my… I don't know how to thank you -"

"Please call me Will", He said smiling, "I think it's safe to say we're passed the pleasantries".

"Agreed", I said happily. It has been years since I felt this joyous. Finally I felt like I was somebody again. I mean look at what this Firth fellow had already done for me; he gave me an invitation to what seems to be a highly coveted party, as well as a polished black tuxedo, all this after talking to him for only thirty minutes. I didn't know what happened next, but I was anxious to enter the next stage of this journey.

We went through the entrance; standing in front of us was a hostess and behind her was an influx of waiters serving a variety of dishes and drinks on their platters. The hostess was stunning; she wore a long elegant, silk dress, embellished high heels, and a bunny mask similar to mine.

"Good evening Mr. Firth, so lovely to have you this evening, will you be with anyone special today" She said. Just the sound of her voice alone was arousing; I was almost spellbound by her presence. If only she took off that mask so I was able to get the full picture.

"Thank you Brenda, and yes as a matter of fact, though not in the way you might envision", He said, then looked at me "This is the owner of this lovely establishment, Brenda Wilson".

"Pleased to make your acquaintance Ms. Wilson", I said, kissing her hand.

"Well-mannered and charming", she said, making me flustered out of my mind, "but it's Mrs. Wilson, sorry if I burst your bubbles."

"Oh not at all", I said with an artificial laugh, perhaps making my disappointment just a bit too noticeable.

"If you two would follow me to your table", She said walking down the hallway while we followed behind. William smiled and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Don't be so glum; there's plenty of fish in this particular sea. You only met a Blue Tang, wait until you come across some of the Coral Beauties".

10 feet from us was another extravagant door. The music and the crowd were louder than ever, it was behind this door that the New Year's party was taking place. She opened the door and I looked at William; he once more gave me a comforting smile.

"Welcome to Kashmir"

I took a step through the door and my eyes widened in disbelief. This was the grandest and most opulent restaurant I'd ever seen. It had two floors, each had about fifty or so tables with elaborate zigzag decorations that could fit ten people each. Large marble columns held the building, they had no base or roof and were much wider than any columns I had seen; around it were spiraling marble staircases with stainless metal rails that curve with the stairs. There were two large open areas within the restaurant, one at the very front and another at the very end. Both had large, beautifully crafted fountains with steaming water coming out of each one. Elegantly cut plants also inhabited the restaurant. Both the left and right of the restaurant were plastered completely in marble like a large portion of what I saw in the city, but the wall at the very end was completely composed of glass and gave a stunning view of the city. Along with that nothing here architecturally was composed of straight lines, everything is curved and circular; from the sides of the second floor to the ceiling all the way down to the handrails. It was immaculate, surreal, abstract, art deco galore.

On top of all that, there were hundreds upon hundreds of people gathered in here. Many were sitting down in their assigned tables, many more roamed around the restaurant seeking good conversation partners. Every one of them was elegantly dressed. The men wore a variety of different colored vintage tuxedos. The women wore long beautiful gowns, most of which were eccentric and dark colored but nevertheless ravishing. All of them were wearing masks of different animals or fictional creatures; ranging from elephants to devil shaped masks. It truly was a masquerade! Speakers were set up all across the restaurant playing lively jazz music that helped elevate the mood of this already vigorous party.

I followed Brenda to my table and started to climb up the winding staircase. Yet I could not help but notice just how jam packed the restaurant was. Every step I took, there were new fascinating individuals discussing matters ranging from the philosophy, new discoveries in science, to artists bragging about new compositions they wrote. Everyone here seems to be refined, well-educated and ambitious. They were people I greatly desired to interact with, but at the same time was too intimidated to. I was impoverished for most of my career; I had nothing to boast about, let alone anything to wear if it was not for William. As we continued our walk up the staircase, suddenly William stopped Brenda, and then looked at me.

"Now John, from where I see it, you have two options here." William said to me. "I'll be having a little chat with a few colleagues of mine about dull business transactions and other such things upstairs. You can either sit with me and my pals to talk about the excitement harvested from measuring capitalization ratios. Or you can do what the rest of the flock is doing and try to find a refined lad that fit your area of expertise. I would recommend for you to go to the bar on the first floor. That's where all the decorated artists and musicians meet."

I thought about this for a few seconds. Part of me wanted to be with William, he's been so accommodating and was a pleasure to be around. But my forte wasn't in business and I would only embarrass myself if I take part in that conversation.

"Thank you kindly", I said gratefully, "I'll take up your second offer, if you don't mind of course".

"Wonderful", He said with a gleeful expression. Once again he put his hand on my shoulder and said in a lower voice. "Now listen to me, parties in Rapture are not only celebratory, they present a wide range of opportunities if one is willing to take them. Make a damn good impression on any of these renowned artists and by tomorrow you'll be getting letters from them asking you to be one of their disciples."

My excitement grew to paramount degrees. Me? A disciple to a famous musician or artist? This was something I would dream of but never actually put into consideration. No opportunities' were ever presented to me in the surface. Nevertheless I hid my fervor and tried to remain as calm as possible.

"Which ones are the most distinguished figures here?" I said

"Ambitious, I like it," He said proudly, as if I were a son of his. "Let's see, there is Marion Piaf, who's an outstanding contemporary artist and quite the eye pleaser. There is Albert Knudsen, exceptional violinist who helped create our anthem. Oh, Anna Culpepper, she's a lyricist, not a particular favorite of mine, but she's garnered quite the crowd. And then there is Sander Cohen, the musical and artistic genius of our time".

"Sander Cohen huh, what's his particular skill set?" I asked curiously.

"You name it; poetry, composing, sculpting, he's even a bloody playwright." William replied "His talents are far reaching. Hell, Andrew Ryan was so impressed with his work that he gave Sander the entirety of Fort Frolic. He now uses it to show off his artwork and present his plays in Fleet Hall, which by the way is Rapture's musical theatre. If there's anyone you would want to work with, believe me, it's Sander Cohen."

A master poet, sculptor and playwright; that is undeniably a diverse muse. He is definitely on the top of my list of people to converse with.

"Thank you William", I said while shaking his hand "I hope we cross paths again sometime soon"

"Oh we will", he said, walking upstairs and smiling, "remember we still have that interview to finish!"

This was where we parted. Brenda guided Will upstairs and I went downstairs to make something of myself. I felt like I was strangely alone again. I was in a crowd in which everyone seemed to be acquainted with each other. I almost felt like one of those impovershed immigrants visiting the U.S. I reached the first floor and started walking through the crowd. It never felt overbearingly crowded like New York City did. It had the right amount of people to make this feel like a lively, yet enjoyable holiday. Everyone was drinking, conversing, eating; essentially having a good time. Waiters and waitresses would pass by me holding expertly crafted meals, ranging from whole lobsters to slices of salmon lightly covered in Teriyaki sauce and sesame seeds. This was as luxurious and exciting as life got; I could not stop smiling while gazing at this atmosphere. It felt completely surreal to me, how such an existence could be maintained at the bottom of the ocean.

I finally reached the bar, which was, like the rest of this place, spectacular to look at. This was a circular 360 degree bar with four bartenders and an endless amount of liquor. It had a large wheel shaped object on the top that served both as a minimalistic chandelier and as a sign post where the title of the bar ('Les Temps Perdu') was placed. There were also geometric shapes that acted as ornaments placed all around it. I should have been drinking here all my life.

It was easy to distinguish the artists from everyone else. They were much louder and flashier than the rest of the crowd, bragging about their achievements in symmetry and how their rivals were lower than they were. The female's gowns were also far more eccentric than those of the rest of the mass.

I first met Albert Knudsen; he was a small Danish man with a ridiculous beard and emaciated physique, his tuxedo barely fit him. But he was charismatic, well-spoken, and a highly-regarded musician. We talked for thirty minutes about Rapture itself, my arrival thereo Rapture, the harmonic melodies that we created in our compositions, all the way down to the beautiful presentation of the food served to us. Before we parted he gave me his address and telephone number, telling me to stop by whenever I pleased.

Next I met Marion Piaf, who was absolutely stunning. She was 5'8 and wore a sparkling white gown with long gloves. She had short blonde hair with high volume and tight curls. Piaf also had a mask that was shaped like a bird of sorts. I was just immediately drawn to her presence upon first seeing her. Then I got to gossip with her and was immediately less allured. She was not dull-witted in anyway, just somewhat ignorant of the world around her. She did not know basic facts of Rapture that I immediately recognized upon my arrival; such as who was the founder of Rapture? Who owns the plasmid business? Though I must confess, I myself do not know what plasmids are as of yet. What she seemed to have keen knowledge on was the technical 'brilliance' of her artwork, every single little detail, along with the name of all those who admired her work. She almost made them seem like her suitors. Like Albert Knudsen, she also gave me her contact information. Unlike Albert Knudsen, I threw it away in the nearest disposal. I simply could not work with someone who cannot look behind her own canvas and realize why her admirers are mainly men, pretentious as it may be.

To my disappointment, I could not find Sander Cohen. Knudsen told me he was not able to make it and was preoccupied with the creation of a new opera. I went into a state of dejection; this was my best chance to present myself to Sander. I did not want to be associated with Piaf under any circumstances. Knudsen was a fine man and violinist, but his range of talents were not diverse enough for me to have any large undertaking in it. My ideal choice was Sander and even if my skills in persuasion failed to sway him, at least he would know my name. Now it will take arduous measures to seek an audience with him no doubt.

I ended up going to the bar to relieve my somber state with alcohol. I sat down in one of the stools and asked for a vodka martini. I was about to get out my wallet and pay, but then the bartender stopped me.

"No need for that, everything is provided for by Andrew Ryan" The bartender told me.

"Wait as in he paid for everything here? The food, drinks, the entire set up?" I said

"Yes sir."

"Awfully selfless of him."

"Hah, don't ever tell him that." the bartender said in a New York accent while cleaning a few glasses

"Why would he do something like that?" I said curiously

"Hey you got me pal, I just wash the glasses and serve the drinks, I don't bother with that sort of thing." He said in a very cool matter. We were silent for a few seconds and then I spoke again.

"Do you know why Sander didn't show up? Seems like everyone important in Rapture is here, and he definitely fits that category, so why is that?"

He looked at me and looked surprised by my question. "You haven't been here long have you?"

"No, actually just arrived two hours ago", I said, taking a large sip of that vodka.

"No kidding", He said giving off a little laugh, "Well better know now then later, Sander is…. A bit of an oddball".

"Really, How so?"

"He isn't exactly the social type. When he doesn't have to, he almost never goes to any of these gatherings. But when Andrew Ryan comes crawling through the door and asks for his presence, he gets here at a moment's notice. But he would usually save a large seating area of his own so he doesn't have to talk with anyone besides his 'admirers'".

"So he's not on the social side of things, not to uncommon for us artists".

"There's more.", He said while cleaning some more glasses, "One time I ended up serving him drinks and all he ever talked about was a songbird, or his lack of one I guess. He was pretty rowdy that day, stirred quite a ruckus. But the best part, he wasn't drunk."

"You don't say."

"I swear to you" the bartender said "he said something about not wanting to put his muse to shame, and here he was practically ranting on about songbirds completely sober, I swear there are some nut jobs in this place."

"Well, thanks for the info pal", I said holding my drink up

"Hey no sweat", he said looking the other way at a man who was calling for a drink, "Listen I gotta go. Nice chatting with you, come by the Kashmir sometime, I'll be here serving a shit ton of artists on a daily basis, could use some decent company."

"Will the drinks be free tomorrow?" I said jokingly

The bartender chuckled, "Nothing is free here".

Once again I was alone in a world where it seemed like every single individual had a conversing partner. The bar soon ended up being ludicrously crowded. It almost became nauseating. I decided to leave it and head to the second floor to get a better look at that view of the city. I went passed the crowds of artists and social scientists, the fountains and red marble columns, the waiters serving an endless number of seafood. I went upstairs into a completely new environment. The atmosphere was far different from the one below. Men wore simple black tuxedos or traditional business suits over the highly colorful and flamboyant attires that were worn by the men downstairs. Most of them smoked large cigars from brands I never heard of. Many of the men were seated in circular tables eating large crab legs. I came to the conclusion that this was where the businessmen and scientists would sit. I reached the end of the restaurant and had a full view of the city. As expected the view of the city was gorgeous, you got a good idea of the variety of wild life that inhabit this city, whales and jelly fish would just pass by different buildings and no one here would give a care in the world. What I didn't expect was how beautiful the area around the view was. There was a small downstairs area that was completely cut off from the rest of the first floor. It had very few seats and at the center of the space there was a large open space that carried a huge marble globe of the Earth. The pieces of land were darker than the waters surrounding it and were three dimensional; as in they came out of the globe. It worked like a relief where only part of a statue would stick out from its original canvas, only this was not a statue but a minimalist representation of our world. The seats that were available got a full view of the city. I imagine this was where the richest and most prolific figures in Rapture would sit, there were far less people at this part of the restaurant. Here I was with a wallet that carried twenty dollars standing right next to the most decorated individuals of this city. To celebrate the occassion I took a few more sips of my vodka and rolled about in my misery.

"When invited to one of my get-togethers, guests would usually drink away in high spirits. You on the other hand seem to be engaging in somber drinking. I simply must pry, what is the cause of this mishappening?" said a mysterious man who came out of nowhere. He spoke in an accent similar to that of a U.S. senator on television. Only his voice had much more authority in it and evoked mystery.

He sounded so familiar, I almost looked to see who he was. But my melancholy reached pivotal heights and ended up staying where I was. "A misadventure of sorts I suppose. I was supposed to meet my future mentor today, only he wasn't here. Now I have to either involve myself with a lesser woman or a man who will only give me a small role in his masterpieces. It seems like fate continues to toy with me."

"Fate?" said the mysterious man. "That'ss a word I haven't heard for a quite sometime. Let me tell you this, fate has no precedence in one's existence, it never has. Man has neither a predetermined future nor a set of guidelines. Men are free to do as they will and can achieve great wonders once they realize this. This goes for you as well. You chose to stand here and wallow away in misery, it was not fate, it was not an angel that controls every impulse of your body, it was you. Now, you can go back, empty the bars of Kashmir of all its liquor and become a worthless drunk, or you can take advantage of this misadventure and open your eyes to see what you might have blindly squandered. The choice is yours."

My melancholy turned into curiosity. Who was this man? How was it that with one paragraph he was able to cure me of my affliction?

"You believe it is impossible to change the course of this misfortune." He said with a fiery passion "Come let me show you what I have done with the so called impossible."

When I finally decided to look upon who I was talking to, I ended up facing his back. He was about 5'10 and was fairly built. He had great posture and was wearing a brown vintage suit. We walked down the staircase that led to the globe and we ended up stopping right next to the window that showcased the city.

"In approximately two minutes, it will be 1959, a new year for Rapture." He said, "We cannot simply overlook this; we must celebrate it with spectacle and commemorate it with the achievements of my fellow citizens. Tell me, you've heard of Rapture's most accepted commodity, plasmids. Am I right to assume this?"

I tried to get a glimpse of his face by getting closer to him, but then looked away in embarrassment as he asked me the question. "Yes but I haven't personally seen one yet."

"Ignore sight. It is not about what you see when it comes to plasmids, but what it does. For as long as I remember, parasites have told me it was impossible to build a city underwater, I proved them wrong. They told me it was impossible to sustain life in an environment such as this, I proved them wrong once more. They told me it was impossible to have a man shoot lightening out of his hand; Rapture pushed past the impossible. Time and time again people have told me of the impossible and I made the impossible a possibility. Turning fiction into reality. It came to a point where I realized that impossibility, the whole philosophy behind it, did not exist and if man was given free rein to pursue his endeavors, spectacular things can be accomplished."

"I'm sorry; you said something about a man shooting lightning out of his hand?" I said rather nervously

"Look up, what do you see", he said

I looked up and saw a giant circular sign hanging at the very top of the ceiling. It was invisible to all except those who looked up. I saw a man next to it; he was using rope to hold himself on the ceiling. He extended his hand towards the sign, and then something strange happened. Blue energy started to surge from his hand and all of a sudden a jolt of lightning hit the sign and it lit up. I fell to the ground stunned at what I just saw, what was that? Am I hallucinating? I looked up again and he was gone, there was nothing but red smoke from where he originally was. The sign started coming down automatically. The smooth jazz was replaced with loud celebratory New Year's music. People from all over the restaurant started to gather to the front in anticipation for something huge. As the sign came down, I realized it was not a sign at all, but rather a clock, a large neon lighted clock with a loud ticker. The music suddenly stopped. Everybody in the restaurant was counting down to the New Year.

I was behind this stranger, this well-spoken, prophet like stranger who's name I do not know and who's face I have not seen. Twenty seconds to the New Year and I finally ask, "I'm sorry I didn't get your name."

He showed me half his face and then said in a cool tone "Of course".

He started to turn around. At this point time started to slow. I do not know why, but my eagerness to see who this man is was the most anticipated moment in my life. He was continuing to turn around and then, incredibly, I looked into his face, his piercing face. The countdown continued

 _FIVE_

 _FOUR_

 _THREE_

 _TWO_

 _ONE_

"Andrew Ryan", he said

Confetti came out of the ceiling, the neon clock turned into a 'Happy New Years' sign, the crowd roared in applause and yells. All this was happening and all I can do was look at this man's face. He started to smile, outside this building streams of light started to rise up from all across the city, and then.

 _BOOM_

 _BOOM_

They were fireworks, more than I ever seen in my life. They lit up the entire city, more so than the sun could have ever done. As fireworks were erupting all over the city, I continued to look at Ryan's face. He raised his eyebrows along with his arm and raised a glass of champagne while fireworks were erupting behind him. It was at this instance that I realized this was where I was meant to be, happily buried at sea.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4

" _Will" said a deep male voice that echoed in an empty space. My eyes were closed; all I could hear was that voice calling out a name. Everything else was silent; ominous, eerie silence._

" _Will' said that voice again. This time I opened my eyes, everything around me was blurred and unclear. I was in a room, an empty white room. In front of me was a table. There was someone sitting on the other side, but he was an unclear silhouette, I could not make out his face._

" _Will", he said to me again._

" _What… who's Will?" I said while moaning, almost like I was in pain_

" _Where is the bottle in the winery?"_

" _Bottle in the.. I'm sorry I don't understand", I said, feeling delirious._

" _Where is the bottle in the winery?"_

" _I don't know what that is! What is this? Who are you?" I said exacerbated_

 _Everything was silent again, the figure on the other side did not move, the light started to flicker on and off. All of a sudden, everything I saw in front of me started to crack, like fragile glass. The cracks around my field of vision worsened and worsened until, abruptly, it fell apart. That image my eyes produced shattered into dozens of little fragments of glass that fell down, until there was nothing but darkness, lonely desolate darkness._

" _WHERE IS THE BOTTLE IN THE WINERY?"_

"Aahh" I screamed jumping up from my bed. It was a dream.

I was breathing heavily and was covered in sweat. I got up from my bed, went into the bathroom, grabbed a towel and dried myself up. I then took a good look at my apartment. It was not exactly the most accommodating home I had seen. It had cracks on the ceiling and was dimly lit. But it was more than functional. I came here with nothing but twenty dollars, by making the right connections I was able to avoid being a destitute. More than that, thanks to Andrew Ryan, I was going to have an interview with Sander Cohen today, but it functions more like an audition. Cohen demanded that I play one of my original compositions to him or else he would not bother seeing me.

I looked at my watch to see the time. It was 9 in the morning and my audition was at 11. Time was not on my side. I took a quick shower to get rid of the stench from all that sweat, and then I put on business attire as well as a top hat and left the apartment to get to the closest bathysphere station.

I had to go to Fort Frolic, which was apparently the most affluent and bizarre of Rapture's many complexes. It was a place where residents could lessen tension and take downtime in a variety of ways. One could go into the many different smoking rooms, each of which offered a different environment for those with more specific taste. Or why not take a seat in Fleet Hall and watch a play by some of Raptures great playwrights. For the more salacious distractions, strip clubs and casinos were available in Fort Frolic as well. Yes indeed this is the place for one's mind to unwind and be consumed by worldly pleasures. But I was heading there for working purposes, to make something of myself.

The bathysphere station was crowded; there were over twelve platforms and not a single one of the lines let up. I got my ticket and went to the platform with the smallest line. Once again everyone here was chatting with someone else with absolute exuberance, and here I was with a briefcase and business suit by myself. I was so used to the life style in New York City, where no one interacted with one another. In fact this was a commonality all over the United States, when it comes to strangers we tend to just pass one another in complete silence and never actually bother talking to one another. Here it seemed to be the exact opposite; everyone was chatting about a variety of topics; sometimes about different events that circulated in Rapture; but most of the time it seemed to be simple family issues. And here I am the foreigner who has made nothing of himself in the past few days. That was all about to change very soon.

I entered a bathysphere with one man and a family of four. The mother and father of the family went in front of the window to show their kids the different parts of Rapture. I only got to see a small part of the window due to the family blocking a majority of it. But even through that small portion of the window, I saw something strange outside. I got closer to the window and to my bewilderment, I saw a man outside one of Raptures many buildings. As the bathysphere got closer, I let out a gasp. I do not think it was not a man at all, more like a large creature of some sort. It was over twelve feet tall and wore an unusually large diving suit. Its left hand was abnormally big; it could easily grab a full grown man just with that hand. Where it's right hand should be instead it had . . . a giant drill. He was using it to remove a large damaged neon store sign. I got a close look at the helmet, it had multiple small viewing holes and was too large for any normal human to be able to move it let alone fit in. It was a large menacing, hulking figure, but seemed to be used for intensive labor purposes on the exterior of the city.

"Excuse me, but what the hell is that thing," I asked the father while pointing at the mechanical beast

The father looked a little irritated with me, "Watch your language, we got kids here! Don't they teach you manners where you're from?"

I gave out a frustrated chuckle by his response, "For crying out loud, the kid looks twelve already. You know how many protestant sects raise their kids from birth with the idea of hell? Baptisms? The idea that all kids are born evil?"

"Say that word one more time."

"Hell."

Anger burst through the fathers eyes and he began pacing towards me with his fists up."Why you little-"

The other passenger intervened and nervously said, "S-sir please, not here, in front of your children."

The father stared at me with great hatred, but eventually looked away in defeat and took a seat. The passenger who helped me was a young adult. He had blonde clean-cut hair, was skinny, and in his mid-20s. But he seemed a bit reserved, he did not ask if I was okay, he just glanced at everyone nervously, put his hand in his pocket, and then sat in his seat looking down into the floor.

I went up to him and took a seat next to him, "Hey thanks for that, that could have been an unnecessary mess."

"Oh, it's no problem really, I'm glad to help whenever I can", He said to me, looking away with a nervous smile

"Glad to hear it, John Buchanan", I said reaching out to shake his hand

"Kyle Fitzpatrick", He said shaking my hand

"So Fitzpatrick, what brings you to Fort Frolic?" I said with devious intent "I can't imagine it's for the more lustful pleasures it has to offer."

"No, God no", He said laughing, "I'm actually here on business, you see I'm, well, a disciple to Sander Cohen.

My eyes widened when I heard this. What a strange coincidence, here I was about to have an audition for this great connoisseur of art and his disciple was right in front of me in a bathysphere.

"Sander Cohen eh", I said to him, planning to tell him nothing about my interview with Cohen until I got a few questions out of him. "I hear grand things about him; I was actually planning to go to one of his art exhibits today."

"Is that so", he said smiling, "He's well known for his more abstract works."

"Expressionism?"

"No, heh, more like realism", Kyle said "he loves to do portraits."

"That's good to know", I said, getting useful information from my source "But enough about him, what about you? Why is Sander calling you to his presence today?"

"Hehe, prying into my personal life I see", he said a bit skeptical, "Well I suppose it won't hurt anyone if I say this. Andrew Ryan asked Sander to audition someone he met at the New Year's party. He accepted, of course but wasn't, umm, pleased. He said that this was a waste of his time and started rambling about mortality and how every second of his life was, ehhh, precious. So he wanted to make a practical joke of sorts. He invited all his disciples, colleagues and acquaintances into Fleet Hall. Whoever is auditioning is going to, umm, perform for an entire audience who believes they are about to witness a comedy. While playing, if he really does turn out to be an amateur, then confetti is going to come out of the roof along with hanging cupids. Trombone players are going to come out to play the, what do I call it, the sad trombone sound? I don't know, but what Sander understands so well, especially with this crowd as far as, um, comedy is concerned; witnessing a man's pain is another man's pleasure."

Well this was surprising; I thought he would be a bit more sympathetic but it turned out to be the exact opposite, he was completely ruthless. I had to take advantage of this; at least I would not be surprised and to flabbergasted to perform now that I know about his plans.

"Goodness, that's quite a malicious deception he's stirred up; do you have any sympathy for this poor soul?" I asked Kyle curiously

"Of course I do!" He said defensively "It's just that if I go against Sander on any subject, I will end up being jobless, this is his version of high art, I can't fight him on that."

"Oh you poor soul", I said to him sarcastically, I believe it was time to introduce myself to my new found colleague. "You told me so much about your profession, it only seems fitting that I tell you mine."

"By all means, please", Kyle said to me

"Well I ended up coming to Rapture a few days ago, so I'm currently on the dole." I said to him

"Is that so, who are you receiving benefits from" Kyle asked curiously

"Andrew Ryan". I said "You see I went to that New Year's party he hosted a couple of days back and had the pleasure of meeting him. I told him about my current disposition and he said he would be delighted to help. So he assisted me in getting both a crummy but functional apartment and an audition for the most renowned artist in this city, today. So hearing your story gave me a tad bit of déjà vu".

Fitzpatrick turned extremely red and started sweating; he put his hands on his face and started shaking his head.

"You played me", he said in disbelief

"No, you played me, I'm just returning the favor", I said with a prideful smile

He looked away from me and did not talk for the rest of the ride. We finally reached Fort Frolic; the building was shaped like a long dark cylinder with flanking small rectangular like towers. We went inside the itand arrived at the platform. The first thing I noticed when arriving at the station is just how busy it was! Frolic was crowded to the bone; it probably had three times the amount of people I saw in the station at my apartment complex. This crowd was louder and more rambunctious as well. I would imagine that most of them were intoxicated.

I stepped outside of the bathysphere; Fitzpatrick wasted no time and left right away, along with the family that accompanied me. My potential list of friends in Rapture grows shorter by the day. I exited the station and was now making my way to Fleet Hall. As I walked through Frolic, I could not help but notice how different it felt from the rest of the city. They did not have conventional stores; it was filled with elaborate smoking rooms you had to pay to be in, art galleries, casinos, and strip clubs. Surprisingly the busiest stores would tend to be the art galleries; they were full of individuals studying different abstract artworks.

I was walking down the center and was about to pass by a strip club, but then I froze. I did not know why this came to be. Whether it was out of curiosity or craving, I stopped. When I lost my job, I spent most of what I had on strip bars in downtown New York. Drinking excessively and having private dances. It gave me a feeling of superiority, but it was also the result of addiction. I made good money back then and could have easily put that money in my savings for pressing emergencies. Instead I squandered it on petty things. This is one of the many negative aspects of being human; we are all slaves to pleasure and desire. One can tell you about the health risks and the consequences of performing immoral action, but at the end of the day rational thought is thrown down the toilet and replaced by an unquenchable thirst. We start making excuses for the things we've done and in turn we go back to that hell hole over and over again.

I took a few steps forward to the club. A large security guard was in front of the door and stopped me, waking me from my unconscious state.

"Hold it", the security guard told me "Are you a member?"

"I'm not." I said a little dazed and confused "I'm sorry for the trouble I'll be leaving right now."

I was about to walk away, but then froze again and turned to the guard.

"I'm just curious, I understand this city is all about free market, but how does Ryan allow places like these to exist? He advocates individualism and how everyone has potential to do something remarkable with their lives. And here I am looking at an establishment that forces women to do horrid things. It's just another form of slave labor; you go to desperate women and give them no other option than to do this for a living. How does that fit in with Andrew Ryan's philosophy?" I said with fervor

He looked at me in disbelief but then burst out laughing.

"You've been hiding 1000 leagues below Rapture?" he said "First off we don't force anyone in here to do anything, women come here and try to be the best at what they do. In this case it's stripping. And what's with the morality talk? If you've paid attention to anything Ryan said then you'd know 'morality' doesn't exist here. It 'limits our ability to grow', as said by Ryan. Now scram before I call security on you for wasting my time."

I quickly left the security guard and was back on route to my destination. I exited the crowded two story center and found myself in front of a wide marble staircase that led me to my destination, Fleet Hall. There were a large number of elegantly dressed couples in a single filed line walking up the stairs, chatting and laughing about what was to come. Fitzpatrick was not lying; it was going to be a full house in the theatre.

Speaking of Fitzpatrick, to my surprise, he was standing at the front entrance of the theatre. He looked as pale as a corpse and looked like he was anticipating someone. He then made eye contact with me, let out a sigh of relief and ran towards me. I walked towards him while taking out a cigarette to smoke. He reached me, but I just continued walking.

"Mr. Buchanan!" Fitzpatrick said "If you would follow me, Sander is-"

"Kyle!" I said with artificial glee while fast walking and smoking my cigarette "great to see you again, but that won't be necessary, I know my way to the backroom."

"Oh, very good Mr. Buchanan, very good", Kyle said nervously trying to keep up with my pace. "Listen about that, ummm, conversation that we had back in the . . . well it would mean the world to me if you don't tell Sander about our little meeting."

"Alright, but first you'll have to explain how that benefits me" I said to him "You're the only other piano player in Sander's employment which means you're my only competition. I tell Sander, he kicks you out and I won't have to worry about a thing ever again. So give me a few reasons why I shouldn't tell him."

He looked at me anxiously and started to turn red again. "I . . .I . .. ummm-"

"Hey, relax I'm not going to tell him anything", I said smiling while patting him on the back. "You're a gullible sort of guy aren't you."

"You..you son of a bitch, don't jest around with my work like that", he said in a joking like matter. "Thanks for this, I-I'm in your debt."

"So, do you know what the play is called?" I asked curiously

"The Fool, the Trial, and the Cupids" he said looking slightly embarrassed "Again, it's supposed to be a comedy".

"Well, this should be fun", I said, throwing away my cigarette into the nearest astray.

We reached the backdoor to the theatre, in front of it was a man wearing a white tuxedo and a bunny shaped mask.

"Mr. Buchanan?" he said

"Yes?"

"Ah, Mr. Cohen is expecting you." He said, opening the door for me and Fitzpatrick

I stepped through and walked into a production room of sorts. It contained many different props, ranging from confetti machines to the large cupids that Fitzpatrick warned me about. The production crew was huge, it had over 30 people, all of them were wearing bunny shaped mask. They were each assigned to do different tasks, ranging from lighting tech all the way to arranging the props. It felt as if they were getting ready for a circus. Everything looked so flamboyant; the production team looked like they were wearing set costumes, there were rabbits scurrying across the floor, classical music was playing from the speaker, and fog was being produced by a contraption of sorts, and the theatre was entirely composed of red marble. All this for my audition, I did not know whether I should feel gratified or belittled.

"Noooo, nooooo, NOOOOOOO", said a voice that roared across the stage "WHY DO YOU FAIL IN THIS FASHION? THE DAMN CUPID IS TO BE FACED AWAY FROM THE AUDIENCE, NOT PARALLEL TO IT YOU DIM WITTED SLOTH."

"Mr. Cohen, repositioning it would mean having to redo the entire-"

"Excuses, excuses, mundane EXCUSES!" said Cohen "Remove that honorary mask from your horrid, diminutive face and leave my presence. You bring shame to my muse, who by the way is a fickle bitch WITH A VERY SHORT ATTENTION SPAN!"

"But-"

"OUT", said Cohen

The man Cohen bawled at took off the mask and then ran out of the theatre. The production crew froze and looked at Cohen who put his hand over his face in disappointment.

"Little ants, I apologize for my small outburst, but that does not excuse you from your TASKS AT HAND! QUICK, QUICK TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE, YOUR QUEEN IS GROWING IMPATIENT WITH THIS LACK OF APTITUDE!"

Everyone quickly went back to work. Fitzpatrick led me to Cohen. I didn't see his face directly due to me staring at his back, but he looked like an average man. He was tall and had a beautiful rich accent, even when ranting. He spoke in slow speech patterns and with eloquent dialogue. Though at the same time there was something sinister about his voice, something that made him feel more threatening than it should.

"Cohen", said Fitzpatrick

"Ahhhhh, young Fitzpatrick", he said turning around looking directly at me "Is this our newly born caterpillar?"

I looked at his face and was horrified at what I was looking at, it was grotesque. It was not that he had any facial deformities but what he put on his face was atrocious. He had a lean face, was in his late 40s and his forehead was completely bald. He was wearing . . . eyeliner, eyebrow extensions, and had fakely drawn eyebrows along with a fake moustache. It was sickening to look at.

"John Buchanan," I said shaking Cohen's hand "Caterpillar sir?"

"Yes . . . caterpillar" Cohen says smiling "We are all born into this world trying to discover our wings, our purpose in this dull affair called life. There are two possibilities a domain such as this presents to us. One is that nature has its way and you die in a pit of darkness, never to grow them out, never fulfilling your aspirations. The other is that you survive nature's harsh rule, escape your cocoon, spread your wings and soar . . . into the air, becoming something truly great, shining through the sun in an early afternoon. So little caterpillar, which route will you choose to take."

I froze before answering that question. His face and expression of speech had left me confounded. All that confidence I felt before about surpassing this man's expectations completely faded, it was all just too overwhelming. He seemed completely out of his mind. Not even the flamboyant stage could properly represent what's in this man's mind.

"I choose to take the latter path, Mr. Cohen", I said with a false sense of confidence.

"Is . . . that. . . right . . ." He said widening his eyes, vividly showing off his surreal eyelashes, his face moving ever closer to mine. "In that case, take a seat, relax, play the composition you seem so adamant to show me."

I looked at the center of the stage and a large amount of fog began to appear. Within that fog came out a grand piano. The crew began to clear out, along with Fitzpatrick; soon only Cohen and I were left in the theatre. He smiled at me one last time, and then walked away with the rest of the crew.

"Show me what you are made of Buchanan", Cohen screamed across the stage

Cohen was the last to leave, he shut the door and I was alone in the stage. The classical music coming from the speakers turned off, the rabbits scampered away, and ominous silence crawled into the stage. I took a deep breath and took a good look at the instrument I was about to use, and then the composition I was about to play. I had so much confidence on my way here, and now I feel nothing but apprehension. Am I good enough of a player to prevent the upcoming storm? Can my piece save me from the confetti and the trombones?

The curtains suddenly went up; in front of me I saw nothing but darkness, but I knew there was a large audience that was waiting for the punchline of the show, waiting in complete anticipation. Slowly a headlight began to turn on, pointing its light towards the piano. That was my calling; I took a deep breath and walked towards it, the instrument that will determine life and death for me. I took a seat on my stool, and set up my sheets of music, positioned my hands on the piano, but then froze suddenly. I did not have a scrap of confidence in me left, my hands were shaking and I was sweating. Cohen's presence was just too much for me, I felt like there was no circulation of blood in my body. I had to play soon, I felt like I was about to lose consciousness. I could hear the crowd murmuring amongst one another, which only added to my condition.

"Three seconds" I whispered to myself, sweat dripping from my face. I positioned my hand once again and took one more breath before the storm.

 _One_

 _Two_

 _Three_


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

"Hello, can you hear me?" said a loud distorted voice close by.

I opened my eyes and started moaning heavily, everything was a blur to me once again, and nothing seemed clear or real for that matter. I was lying down and was staring at a ceiling fan; two figures suddenly appeared. One of them raised his arm and a bright light emerged out of thin air, concentrating its beam directly on my eyes.

"Pupils are dilating, no signs of neurological damage." Said one of the figures

My eyes began to adjust and everything became clear. It seemed like I was in a medical room of sorts, with a doctor and his assistant treating me.

"Steady now, no need for sudden movements", he said to me, stopping me from stretching out my arms to quickly.

Suddenly I felt a throb of pain in my head and couldn't help but put my hand on it, being my impulsive self.

"You took a hard hit to the head, your forehead is a bit enflamed and will take time to heal, but so far results show that there is no permanent internal damage." The doctor said

"What happened?" I said to him dazed and confused

"You were performing in one of Sander Cohen's plays, then you passed out and fell from your chair, landing straight on your head", said the doctor

My eyes widened incrediously. I passed out while performing? How did this happen? Another assistant came into the room and whispered something into the doctor's ear.

"I have to take care of some pressing issues," The doctor said to me "I will be back in a few minutes to complete a few other tests. In the mean time you have a visitor that seems fairly resolute on seeing you"

The doctor left the room along with his assistants and shut the door closed. I was alone, lying on my bed and examining my possible future, only to come to the conclusion that I did not have one. Now I was sure my professional career was over, I could only imagine Rapture's elite branding me as a dense stooge. Every single distinguished figure in the city was there watching. No one will offer me a job after that stunt. In the end Sander got what he wanted, he made a laughing stock of me. I could only imagine the hanging cupids coming down with the confetti, then the trombone players marching on the stage, stampeding over my unconscious body. Just the thought of it made me shiver, how can I possibly pick myself up after being a part of the travesty that was 'The Fool, the Trial, and the Cupids'.

I heard footsteps in the distance that were drawing ever closer to my room. The door opened slowly in a terrifying manner, made a creaking sound and then suddenly stopped.

"Has my butterfly waken from his slumber?"

I gasped as I heard those words. Sander Cohen was my visitor? Not William Firth, not even Ryan, but Sander? The man who ruined my life in the only place in the world I had a possible future, astonishingly, was my first and as it stands my only visitor. He came into the room at a snail's pace, wearing that eyeliner and vivid red lipstick I so dread looking at.

"What do you want", I said to him irately, not even attempting to hide my resentment.

"Now . . . now . . . why so grim", he said with a dreadful smile on his face. "You took me and the the audience by storm tonight; I came here to applaud your victory."

"What . . . what are you talking about?" I said confused, Sander oeaking my curiousity

"My dear dear boy, I am merely prattling on about the show of the decade, the one that audiences will schmooze about for months to come, all thanks to you, my greatest disciple." Said Cohen

"Wait, you mean to say... what happened?" I said in a desperate tone, almost pleading with him, stubbornly trying to figure out what occurred while I was on stage.

"As the light centered it's gaze on you, before you even played, I saw a prodigious amount of despair in you, it evoked curiosity, from me and the rest of my audience. Then you took your first step towards the piano and, extraordinarily, began to defy time itself. For every footstep you took, it had seemed several minutes passed, our anticipation reached a boiling point. Then finally, you take your seat, put your hands on that splendid instrument, and then." He said, giving a long pause before finishing his statement

"…Then what?" I asked eagerly, my eyes transfixed towards Sander's face.

"Magic…. what came out of your hands was simply… a fable come to life." Sander said with incredible passion " Your hands, poised to perfection, flowed ever so gracefully through every key. I felt every emotion that has seeped through you promulgated, every ordeal that you fought through released, all through the movement of your hands and the contorted expressions of your face. Never before has such raw emotion find its way into my theatre! You made the audience smile in joy, frown in despair and then came the final third act, the act that doubters and artists alike will be discussing for ages. You, my butterfly, have presented a new level of despondency. You played every note like it was your last on Earth. I was able to see the sweat flow down your face, hear each breath you take with every measure you finished. There was so much desperation, so much tragedy evoked in that song. Everyone was holding their breath, waiting for what would come next, and then came the stunning finale. You fell off the chair and spectacularly collapsed to the floor, the crowd gasped in shock, screamed in horror! It was nothing short of a spectacle, the likes of which I had not seen in quite some time."

I was under an immense deal of shock! A few minutes ago I assumed Sander made me the fool of Rapture, now he talks to me as if I was Shakespeare resurrected, like I created an extravaganza you see once in a lifetime. I could not tell if this was part of his elaborate trick or if he was being sincere when saying this. But he described my performance with an excessive degree of passion and fervor. This was the moment when I let my masculinity fly out a window and began bursting into tears of joy. Sander Cohen stood beside me and placed his hand on my shoulder.

"There there, let it all out young Buchanan", Sander said to me "Emotions are a thing of beauty. For an artist to capture true sincerity and pain would mean entering another realm of existence, one where doubters and dull critics cease to be a pestilence, while admirers and devotees come in endless pacts. This is what I offer you Buchanan, a chance to accomplish greatness and be one of the most triumphant artists in all Rapture! Be my disciple; act as the hands I so desperately need to complete my chef-d'oeuvre, my masterwork. With you, I will be one step nearer to satisfying my muse and ending this hoax these FUCKING DOUBTERS HAVE FRAMED ALL OVER MY CANVAS! So, what do you say little butterfly, shall we shake on it?"

I hesitated with this offer. Before meeting Sander, all I wanted to be was his disciple. But very different circumstances emerged once I actually met him. He was this close to ruining me forever; I could have been buried at sea and jobless. Besides that he was completely mad! Sander had a quick temper and is after the blood of all those who criticize his work, calling them doubters, as if he was the leader of a radical religious cult, one that was centered around him. But he was, undoubtedly one of the most influential men in Rapture, and denying his offer meant that he would spite me for the rest of my time in here; we would become adversaries. No matter how influential my performance was, I would not last long if I made an enemy of him.

"Mr. Cohen… it would be an honor working alongside you", I said to him, reaching out my hand to shake his. He smiled at me and shook it. It was at this instance where I sealed my fate; I was now officially under the employment of Sander Cohen. I could not imagine what would be in store for me in the coming years. Sander left my side and put on his trench coat.

"I must be off now!" Sander said "A hundred devotees wait outside the pavilion demanding an explanation for my little hoax and to ask about your well-being. They all hope you make a prompt recovery, as do I. There is much work to be done. Come to Fleet Hall on the 20thof this month, I will be in need of your luscious services."

Cohen put on his top hat and left the room. My doctor came in right after with what seemed to be an injection needle. I took a small blow to the head; does he really need to drug me at this instance? I feel ready to leave this claustrophobic room and move on with my work.

"Is that really necessary?" I said insistently "I feel like a fully functional and capable m-"

"Easy now, I'll need to take a few more tests before we reach that conclusion. I'm giving you a sedative to relax you. It should put you right to sleep, by the time you wake up you should be able to leave."

"But I… Agh!" I said while the needle went through my skin and into my blood stream. Everything began to become less clear, my body felt to weary to move and I was too tired to resist the effects of the drug. I closed my eyes and went into a deep sleep. Darkness ensued and silence precipitated all throughout my surroundings.

" _Will," said a voice echoing throughout the darkness, only this time it was the voice of a female, it was a soothing comforting voice that relieved my tension._

 _The darkness was slowly replaced by what seemed to be a park. There were long trails surrounded by trees. Birds were chirping in the distance and I could hear children playing nearby. I was sitting on a bench wondering what I was doing here._

" _Will," said the voice again with great urgency. I turn around and on the other side of the bench was a woman. I couldn't make out her face, it was too.. blurred. But I could hear her crying, she was emotionally distraught._

" _Will, you have to bring her back, you have to… please!" She said pleadingly. "I was wrong, so wrong to ever go there!."_

" _Please slow down. Who's gone? Where did you go?" I said trying to comfort her_

" _THEY TOOK HER! TOOK HER RIGHT OUT OF MY ARMS!" she said, crying hysterically "I couldn't do anything but watch."_

" _It's okay," I said putting my arms around her for comfort's sake. "It's okay, I'll find her, and put down the bastards who did this."_

" _Thank you."_

 _I closed my eyes for a few seconds to relieve myself of what I had just undergone._

 _SHHHHIIIINNNNNNNGGG_

 _I opened my eyes; no longer could I hear the humming of birds or the laughter of children. No longer could I feel the warm touch of that woman. Everything once again was cold and dark. I looked up and gasped, I was in that damn room again, with that same man. Only this time everything was dark, the only light source came from a hanging lamp that pointed its gaze at a small portion of the table. That was all I could see along with the man's hands. An ominous silence crept through the room._

" _Where is the bottle in the winery?" said the man_

" _WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" I said frantically, gasping for air._

 _The room was silent. The lights began to flicker horridly over and over again. My field of vision started to crack and soon it broke into fragments of glass that fell into the unknown, leaving nothing but the endless black._

" _WHERE IS THE BOTTLE IN THE WINERY?"_

I woke up suddenly and gave off a loud scream. Another dream that ended with that damn phrase; 'The Bottle in the Winery'. What does it mean? And why was everyone referring to me as Will? It was all a mystery to me, but at this point it's inconsequential. Now I have a set future and nothing was going to encumber me. I looked in front of me and saw that there was a nurse in the room.

"Mr. Buchanan, are you alright?" She said, giving off a look of concern.

"I'm fine", I said, relatively frustrated that I was still in the Pavilion. "Can I leave now?"

"Yes but-"

"But what?" I said annoyed, how many more delays could I possibly endure?

"You have….Another visitor", she said nervously

The nurse quickly left the room and in came another figure. He was wearing a top hat that covered his face, but his physique looked familiar. He set his hat on the chair then lit a cigar. Large puffs of smoke came out and spread throughout the room.

"That was quite the show you carried out," said the mysterious man.

Suddenly my frustration turned into complete bewilderment and discrete joy. I recognize that voice anywhere. Our meeting at The New Year's Party ranks up to the best moment in my short lived life. I was in the company of the great Andrew Ryan. He turned around and we were facing one another. Ryan's presence felt omnipotent, as if I was staring at the eyes of God himself.

"I was moved by your performance, and I'm not easily moved," said Ryan, sitting down on a chair next to me. "You turned out to be a sound investment."

"Investment, sir?" I said, a bit confused by what he meant

"Sander Cohen has been, out of sync as of late." Ryan said "He has leagues of admirers but a small band of critics. These critics have stirred controversy amongst a small mass of people and this, for the lack of a better word, disheartened Sander. His works became more vivid and too radical for audiences, so more critics began to follow. He came to me multiple times caviling that his disciples were not adequate enough to carry out his masterpiece and cessation was impossible. You changed that with your performance today. You just shunned all his critics. I came here to congratulate you both on this mighty achievement."

"You watched my… play?" I said a little startled

"Of course, I never miss an original work of Sander's, and this was no exception, it was absolutely divine."

I was a bit shell-shocked by the praise Andrew Ryan was giving me. Here is a man who I had the utmost respect for and he was admiring me for a performance I was completely ashamed of at first. The way my luck is going, I might actually start believing in God again.

"Thank you sir, it means the world to me that you would say something like that." I said to him, a bit anxious on what I was about to ask him next. "You know, I'm sure you're a busy man and I would hate to take up time from you. But Rapture, heh, it's such a radical departure from New York. Night and day, so to speak. There were a few things I saw, that I can't, uh, necessarily explain. And, of course, if you have the time, was wondering if you could should shed some light on some of these stumbling blocks I've hit."

"By all means," he said

"Back at Kashmir restaurant, there was a man next to the New Year's sign and . . . he shot a bolt of lightning right out of his hand . . . how the hell did he do that?" I said excited, which changed immediately to embarrassment. I could have worded my question better.

"Five days in Rapture and you still unaware of the effects of the best-selling commodity in Rapture?" Ryan said teasingly while I gave off a look of complete embarrassment. "It is of no consequence, you had more pressing matters to attend to. What you saw in the New Year's party was the effect of the plasmid."

I suddenly felt enlightened as he told me this. I was able to put some of the dots together. Those advertisement boards all over Rapture showing off Plasmids, they allow people to have some sort of supernatural ability. But how? What was the science behind this liquid?

"Plasmids? Can you please elaborate?" I said, trying to say as little as possible to prevent further embarrassment.

"Of course!" he said eagerly, yet keeping that cool mannerism "1948 was the year, one of our dock workers was bitten by a sea slug in the Upper Wharf of Neptune's Bounty. This worker was one of many victims of the Great War, both his hands were crippled. All he did was give orders to fully functional men. This slug injected some sort of liquid into his bloodstream. When first hearing about this I assumed it was poison, but then something miraculous happened. Brigid Tenenbaum, a German geneticist currently under my employment, worked in the Upper Wharf and was acquainted with this veteran from the war. One day she took a walk around the dock and nearly passed by the cripple. But she noticed something odd, No longer was he giving out orders to the rest of the workers, but rather he was moving large crates by himself. She came to him and asked how this was possible; he answered her question with two words, the slug. As it so has it, he kept the slug, enabling Tenenbaum to research it's internal workings. The results were staggering. Tell me, are you familiar with stem cell research?"

"No, not in the slightest." I said

"Cells in our body that are able to develop into any one of various kinds of human bodily cells. Our understanding of these organisms was rudimentary before the discovery of the slug. This liquid that the slug discharges causes the formation of stems cells that have the ability to differentiate into any cell type. Tenenbaum discovered that this liquid could be genetically manipulated to produce tissue and functions that would not typically be present in the human body, enabling it to envelope properties we assumed were impossible for any man to carry. I saw extraordinary financial possibilities with a product such as this and began to mass produce it. ADAM, what we call this fluid, grew into a phenomenon in Rapture and became the hallmark product of my industry."

"So these stem cells allow humans to have what are essentially superpowers." I said

"That is the basic principle yes."

"Okay.", I said a bit awkwardly. It was not that I did not find this fascinating; it was just that when it came to the field of science, I could not help but give out a little yawn even when it comes to something like harnessing electricity. It is one of many character flaws that to this day trouble me. Though I would not dare yawn in the presence of Andrew Ryan, the man who gave me a chance to do something great with my life. It would be an act of disrespect towards him. After all, he is taking the time to answer serious questions I had about this place.

"Is there anything else that requires explanation?" he said

"Actually yes, just one more thing. When I came here through the bathysphere, I saw…. I don't know how to describe it exactly but it looked like a mechanical man or beast of some sort. It had a drill that made up its right hand. What was it?"

"Ahhhh, I see you have come across one of Rapture's protectors." Andrew Ryan said, giving off a look of annoyance. "What you saw out there was in fact a human being. You see with the finding of ADAM I saw endless possibilities when it came to the growth of my city. Before its finding expansion was difficult; large rocks prevented the expansion of my city, exterior damage was challenging to repair. So we sought a new solution to our problem and began the Protector Program. We would use a human host and graft his skin and organs into a…. hulking diving suit. The ADAM allowed us to genetically enhance the host, enabling him to have supernatural strength."

"You…. You grafted them?" I said in complete horror. He practically took away their lives and turned them into mindless slaves who must forever wear a filthy diving suit. "How could you do this to another human being?"

"John," he said speaking indifferently "You must understand that I enacted this program on a volunteer basis, I would not coerce another human being to do something that does not appeal to their interests, then I would be no different from the parasites who preoccupy the surface."

"What human would volunteer to become something like that?" I said with a bit of anger.

"The weak and the feeble, the sick and the dying; those who want to make something of themselves, but are physically incapable of doing so. They came to the doorsteps of the programs facility and begged me to let them be a part of it. I granted them there wish whole heartedly and will be forever grateful to those courageous citizens."

"But it's immoral!" I said

Suddenly Andrew Ryan's facial expression changed, it turned very grim and looked to be fueled by anger.

"Morality! Don't lecture me on morality." He said with a great deal of rage. "Let me share with you what it truly means to be immoral. When I was nothing more than a child, I lived in a small village near Minsk in the current U.S.S.R. I witnessed the atrocities committed by Tsar Nicholas II and the lies he precipitated throughout the 'motherland'. It was not long until the Bolshevik Revolution began and I bore witness to the horrors committed by parasites. Soldiers of the new Red Army came to my village and ransacked any house they came across, including mine. They came in, took my families bedroom and ate all the food my parents harvested. Every time they did this, every time those soldiers took away the things we worked endlessly to make, they told me 'everything is now shared; we are now all equals part of a great cooperative endeavor. Do not grieve over the things we've taken, it is all of ours now, there is no 'mine' anymore, there is just 'ours'. How I loathed those dim witted palookas. It was only then did I realize that the modern world was created by great men who strove to make their own way. Any time parasites gained control of such a world, they obliterated it. So what is truly immoral in the end? Giving men a chance to make something of them again, or to be repressed by humans who would seek to take away individual freedom and bring us back into the Stone Age."

A long silence crept into the room. I didn't know how to respond to this, if I try to counter that statement I will just be insulting him. I now realize that, as much as I admire Andrew Ryan, we come from very different worlds. I grew up in a middle class family that provided for all my needs, it was only when I became independent did I have to deal with long periods of impoverishment. He lived the life of a serf and was constantly harassed by extraneous political affairs, making his life even more challenging. Now he was a multi-millionaire that turned his vision into a reality, he was one of the great men who formed the modern world. He built an empire out of nothing; I eventually became impoverished and had everything. I almost felt disgusted by myself.

"Is that it?" Ryan said

"Yeah, that's everything I have. I'm sorry if I offended you in any way", I said as sincerely as possible

"Think nothing of it, but I must be on my way, what was supposed to be a short congratulation turned into an elongated lecture." He said, putting on his top hat and preparing to leave.

"Will I see you again?"

"Oh I'm sure of it. Continue getting on Sander's good graces and we will be seeing much more of each other. Until next time." Andrew Ryan said, he walked away from me and exited the room. I was still stunned even when he departed the room, the fact that the founder of the city came here to visit me is the highest honor anyone could give me. As strange as it sounds I already miss his presence; his mannerism, his vision, his eloquence in speech. He was the ideal man and no one I know comes close to him. The door to my room opened again, the nurse that was here earlier entered the room.

"You may now leave if you wish, have a wonderful rest of the day."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Fort Frolic, the one place in Rapture where you can unwind your mind and entangle yourself in salacious desires. Some come here for the strip clubs, paying ludicrous fees to engross themselves in base pleasures to satisfy their unholy addiction. Some come to visit the art galleries, staying in a room for hours to unlock all the mysteries of a single painting. And what do I do with the variety of options presented to me? Drink in excess at the bar, ordering one vodka after another, pondering upon what the hell just happened to me. I came to an underwater city, met the founder of the city upon the first few hours, acquainted myself with a maniac of an artist, saw a man shoot lightning out of his arm, and witnessed a mechanical beast repairing a grocery sign. After witnessing all this, any sane human being would try getting drunk. But I'm not sane; I've adjusted to all these supernatural occurrences and abnormalities. The reason I'm here is because I can't sleep.

It's the same dream over and over again; the same blurry empty room, the same man sitting across from me, and that phrase, that damn phrase. I probably should see the doctor, but I would not dare go back to that hospital room, that was a nightmare of itself. So my solution to this series of unfortunate naps was to go through one drink after another. This is not the first time man has tried to find relief at the bottom of a bottle. No matter how many scientific facts there are on the negative effects of alcohol, men will always come back to bars and drink excessively to temporarily alleviate the tension one goes through in his daily life. It is part of human nature, desire always come first; common sense comes second, and responsibility is always at the bottom of the list. Men have destroyed their lives in the pursuit of finding good alcohol; their family, their jobs, their homes, all of it gone in a heartbeat. People are so quick to judge us, can't they just except that some of us are weaker minded than others?

I got up from my chair, tipped the bar tender, and exited the bar. I drank quite a bit today; my mind was spinning in all directions. Of course, I was not drunk. I have to maintain certain principles, which means that I have to be able to stand, say things consciously, and stay balanced. The Rapture society thrives off reputation, mine will not survive if I am framed as a gifted drunk. That did not go so well for Mozart during his lifetime, only after it did his work really thrive. I will not be burdened with the same mishap.

As I walked through the Fort Frolic center, I was stopped and congratulated by multiple people who either saw my performance or heard about it. I got compliments like 'That was a truly stunning show', 'keep it up old boy', 'you are Sander's true heir', and it goes on. This is what life has been like for me in the past five days. Not only did I make a handsome sum of money, but I also sparked a small fan base. Signs of my performance were put up all across Frolic, mainly signs to sell recordings of it though. I felt like the face of Rapture, now I just have to continue this spree to maintain this image.

"Buchanan?" said a familiar British voice

I turned around and to my surprise I saw William Firth, the man who interviewed me upon my arrival to Rapture. He was walking towards me with a smile of glee and opened his arms to prepare for a mighty hug. He was accompanied by a middle aged woman and a tall teenage boy.

"Firth!" I said stretching out my arms to receive his hug.

"Haha so good to see you again! Especially in such a celebratory time for you. Congratulations on a marvelous performance!" Firth said

"Thank you, that means a lot coming from the watch dog of Rapture", I said jokingly

"Well this watch dog certainly knows how to choose Rapture's livestock, you're a bloody celebrity right now; I can't have a drink without seeing a poster of your bloody performance." He said, he looked at the woman and teenage boy accompanying him and was slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry; I forgot to introduce my darling family. This is my wife Amelia and my son Rupert."

"Pleased to make your acquaintances," I said to both of them, shaking their hands.

"The pleasure is mine; William speaks very highly of you." Amelia said, she has a very deep British accent, making me think she was a descendent of the queen of England herself.

"Does he now", I said looking at him with a smile, "So what brings you all to Frolic, don't you know this is the dominion of the artist?"

"Yes well we are taking something of a family vacation, but I just received a call from The Upper Wharf and they require my presence." William said, "Something urgent came up and I can't get into details right now. These two are heading back home while I have to take a bathysphere to Neptune's Bounty by myself, unless the great Buchanan would like to give an old lad such as myself some company."

"Yes!", I said quickly. Honestly as lovely as Fort Frolic was to look at and walk around, there was just so much indulgence occurring in every corner that I grew a little nauseous. I would be happy to accompany Firth to this Neptune's Bounty. I did not really know much about it, other than it being the finding place of ADAM and something about cargo delivery.

"Wonderful! I'll see you two in a few hours," he said to his wife and kid, blowing a kiss to his wife in the process. He then looked at me and said, "Come now, my clients won't wait long for me."

I followed him to the bathysphere station. We made small talk here and there; talking about family, my boss Sander Cohen, how Rapture was treating me, and whether or not I fancy those portraits of me on the posters. We arrived at the crowded station and I immediately went in line to get a ticket. William looked at me in disbelief.

"Get out of there!" he said grabbing my arm and pulling me away from the line to my ticket. "When with me, there is no need to act like an indigent. Follow me and I will show you what an opulent life looks like."

He led me away from the crowded station and into a desolate area that had a multitude of bulky security guards surrounding it. William approached one of the guards and showed him a piece of documentation. The guard let me and him through. In this desolate space were multiple rooms that were covered in red curtains. William went into one of these rooms and I followed, it was completely dark, felt similar to the time I went to the lighthouse for the first time.

SHHHHIIIIINNNGGGGG

Lights automatically entered the room. In the center of it was a bathysphere, but it was much different from the ones in the station. The metro bathyspheres were round, bulky and relatively ugly. They had no exterior design and looked like they came straight from a factory. The opposite applies to this one. This bathysphere is made of stainless red metal, has a slick oval like design and looks like one of those elegant space pods you would see in Hollywood movies.

"This is the Tigershark Bathysphere," William said proudly "It's twice as fast as the metro version and can be driven manually. Due to their being no regulated traffic for manual driving of the bathysphere, privately owned models aren't mass produced and the expense is absolutely ludicrous. But with the right amount of money, an old geezer such as me is able to buy a submersible Ferrari. Now come on, get in."

The hatch opened and I slowly entered the bathysphere, admiring every detail of it. This was truly a thing of beauty; there was not a speck of dirt on it, though I suppose constantly being underwater helps. I sat down in one of its leather seats and William entered right after. The hatch closed and the platform started to sink into a deep circular tunnel. We soon exited the tunnel in Fort Frolic and came in view of the city in its full glory. It's hard to believe that anyone over here can get used to this city. It's practically a modern version of Atlantis and people are just wandering about their lives as if nothing about this place was truly spectacular. I suppose we all have different attitudes on what is considered incredible and what is considered customary.

We went away from the routes of the metro bathyspheres and created our own course to Neptune's Bounty. We went passed many more of those hulking mechanical giants known as protectors. This time though, I saw different types of models. There were the ones with the abnormally large hands, diving helmet, and drill that cut through enormous rocks as if they were paper. Then there was another model that more so resembled a human than the other. Though it was still huge, this protector did not have abnormally large body parts or a large drill to make up its right hand. Instead it had a massive nail gun in which it used to nail shop signs or repair walkways. Looking at these protectors, I could not help but feel sympathy for them. Knowing that they were once men now turned into mechanical slaves is hard to fathom, especially for an objectivist society. Then again if what Andrew Ryan told me was true and these people were terminally ill or dying from age, then it's not hard to see why they chose this fate. It was either live the rest of your life with free will but being a burden to society or to lose that free will and help that society in ways that even the most physically capable human beings could not do. Even I would choose the latter option.

William and I were talking quite a bit on our way to Neptune's Bounty. The small talks elevated into discussions about morality, philosophy, and the faults of the world above. But we eventually moved on to lighter topics.

"You have a lovely family", I said. "Your son looks like a fully-fledged man and your wife is simply stunning."

"Well that's not everyone.", he said a bit hesitantly. "My wife and I also have a two other members in our family."

"Is that so", I said a little surprised. "How did that come about?"

"You see I used to be a religious man of sorts," he said looking a little ashamed.

"Wow, I could have never guessed."

"Anyways in my more youthful years on the surface, I was an amateur businessman and a devout servant of God who had a longing to have children. I specifically wanted one boy and one girl. I married Amelia and soon afterward she gave birth to Rupert. I wanted to start the process all over again but then opportunity came to my doorsteps and I got a letter giving me a set of coordinates. Those coordinates led me here and a whole new world opened up to me. I started to focus less on the Christian teachings and more on the expansion of my business, giving my family the lifestyle I always dreamed of, and eventually becoming a prominent businessman. We were so distracted by our success it hadn't occurred to us that we still did not have a girl in our family. So just two years ago we decided to start the process all over again and I started praying more than I ever did in my life. I wanted a girl more so than anything else in the world; just one beautiful, young baby girl. Eventually Amelia gave birth again and soon afterward I gave up on God and decided to live a material life."

"So you got a boy?" I said a little confused

"No", he said a bit grumpily "I received two girls."

We both laughed hysterically for a minute before finally calming down and taking heavy breaths. After our little laugh, something came to mind I have been meaning to ask for quite sometime.

"I have a question that's been bothering me for days and I was hoping that you might shed some light on it," I said to William. "When we were in the welcome center, I couldn't help but notice that it was completely empty. I'm just curious on how many visitors do you get in Rapture."

William looked at me with great concern, I suppose he was trying to avoid answering that question and hoped I wouldn't notice.

"It's complicated," he said

"I've got time," I said to him, at this point a little suspicious about his concern

He gave out a sigh and then said, "A few years ago Ryan was under quite a bit of political turmoil. A man by the name of Frank Fontaine came to Rapture in 1948. In a matter of weeks he created a smuggling ring to bring contraband items that were high in demand; this dramatically expanded his income base. He created his own business, Fontaine Futuristics, which was designed for making advances in medical research. His methods to get those results were nothing short of barbaric. He took advantage of the less privileged residents of Rapture and forced them to undergo terrible experimentation. Ryan didn't know he was performing such volatile tests and let him continue on with his business. I mean for God sakes he disguised his research building as 'Fontaine's Home for the Poor' and was looked at as a champion of the people, no one knew about this. But soon Andrew Ryan discovered the criminal arm of Fontaine's enterprise and saw it as a genuine threat to the entirety of Rapture. His smuggling operations might avail the location of the city to those who live on the surface. So he sent his security chief to put an end to the smuggling ring and prove that it was connected with Fontaine. The connection was made and Ryan ordered his men to arrest Fontaine so he could face justice for his heinous crimes, but Fontaine refused to give in and then a shootout instigated. Fontaine was found dead shortly after and the smuggling ring was disbanded. He closed the visitor's center after this, fearing that another parasite from the surface worse than Fontaine may try to do the same thing, he would not allow it and from that point on, we isolated ourselves completely from surface dwellers."

"What political turmoil did he face?" I asked, as he really didn't elaborate on that

He gave off another sigh and shook his head, then said. "Fontaine was a cruel bastard. He was vicious and sick. But he was also a brilliant businessman; he brought products from the surface that you could get nowhere in here, and for reasonable prices. Soon people started turning to him for their material needs. Ryan offered the people eloquent words and well-drawn speeches, Fontaine offered priceless material goods. That's how he gained so many followers at one point, even today people complain about their restrictions on getting products from the surface."

"What products are considered contraband items?"

"Anything that is in conflict with the Rapture ideology; movie reels from the surface, newspapers that discuss current affairs of cities other than Rapture, the Bible, or any other religious items that people might worship. Look how I see it we have everything we need right here, Fontaine smuggled the few good things left on the surface that we might crave. But what happens when you smuggle in the things that made living on the surface a living hell? How would people react? What would happen if you smuggled in religious fanatics, guns, diseased ridden degenerates, politicians, weapons of mass destruction? We came here to get away from the political grief of the surface and start a new life. Fontaine sought to take that away from us and control Rapture for himself, Ryan prevented a disaster and I am thankful to him for that."

A long silence endured inside the bathysphere. I made William uncomfortable with these questions, I'm sure of it. I doubt it had anything to do with me questioning the foundations of all this, in fact Andrew Ryan fully supports his residents in asking questions and doesn't enact a law against it. So it must be our talk of Frank Fontaine that has made him so uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, but what is Frank Fontaine to Rapture? How did he stir so much commotion amongst everyone?" I asked

"You weren't here during his rise. The scheming, the manipulation, the chaos; all of it instigated by him. I met him at one point to talk about a possible partnership between our two businesses. I entered his office and was…baffled; he had animal trophy heads covering every foot of his office; bear heads, lion heads, deer heads, they were everywhere. You see I have a personal philosophy about people showcasing their fortune. The manner in which one shows off wealth through decorations and ornaments is a representation of his or her character and what they have become to acquire that wealth. The instant I went into Fontaine's office, I knew that this man did terrible things to acquire his wealth. He was sitting down, smoking a large Cuban cigar. He was a man with a menacing stature and had a thick Bronx accent. When he spoke, I was terrified; his mannerisms were unlike anything I had ever seen in Rapture. I rejected his offer and he became furious. He got off his chair went up to me and said 'when this shithole you call paradise comes crashing down and becomes a pile of junk. You can bet that the first piece of shit I'm going after is you. Not Sander, not Steinman, not even goddamn Ryan, I'm coming for you. No one crosses me, no one.'"

"Why didn't you tell this to security?" I said

"Heh, it was the word of a small time businessman against the founder of a corporate enterprise, I had no chance. I just let it go, but I never associated with him, I simply couldn't. A few days after his death, an article came out on the Rapture Tribune; Ryan's men raided the research center and took pictures of the experiments he approved. It was horrible, he was using women, the elderly, even children to conduct his experiments, he ripped them wide open and took their organs out as if they were nothing but spare parts. Those poor lads, not a day goes by when I think of that man and what he might have done to this city."

"What was he researching that required so many human hosts", I asked

"Who knows, Ryan never shared it to the rest of us and destroyed the lab along with all the research. He said, 'I wouldn't dare continue this abomination, all of it must go.'"

". . . Hey, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable in anyway", I said to William. "I don't know much of anything about the history of this place and was just curious. Our discussion of this Frank degenerate is done. I mean the way he threatened you.. It's just too much."

"It wasn't just me," he said emotionally distraught. "He threatened my family. He said he would come after all of us. How the hell can any human do that? Threaten children to settle a score. He was a monster and I celebrated his death. I'm glad you came here when that mess was done with. Rapture was much grimmer back then. But that's behind us, and yes if you wouldn't mind young chum we should move on to a more mirthful topic."

"Yes we should," I said "You want to know what's happening on the surface?"

"Blimey," Will said laughing "I said a bloody merry topic, have you ever heard of such a thing?"

We continued the small talk for five more minutes until we finally reached Neptune's Bounty. Unlike the pristine skyscrapers that made up a majority of Rapture, this building was smaller; it reminded me of one of the many apartment buildings in Manhattan. This building had more rust and was not managed well from the outside. I suppose there is no value in cleaning a fishery complex, as long as the building is functional and workers could do their job in it, that's all that matters.

We entered a tunnel and were lifted by a platform to the surface of Neptune's Bounty. We stopped and entered a room similar to that of the one in Fort Frolic. The hatch opened and we both exited the bathysphere. There was a man waiting in the room, he was a short broad man who was completely bald. William immediately greeted him and then introduced me.

"This is the young prodigy of Rapture, John Buchanan," William said to this stranger.

"I hear many great things about you, I'm sorry I wasn't there to see your performance but I will most definitely get a recording of it." He said to me. "William we need to talk…. Privately."

"I dragged him here all the way from Frolic!" Will said a little surprised "Surely you can make an exception."

"I'm afraid not", he said sternly "Mr. Buchanan, I am so sorry for the inconvenience, but the matters in which we are about to discuss is confidential. I hope you understand our discretion."

"Of course", I said "Will it's alright just tells me where the nearest bathysphere station and bar is and I'll be on my way."

William gave another sigh and said "Go to 'The Fighting McDonagh's Tavern' for the bar. The bathysphere station is right next to it. You can't miss it. Truly sorry for dragging you into this."

"It's fine," I said smiling "I'll see you sometime soon old man."

"Come by for dinner sometime. My family and I would be delighted to have you."

Thiswais where we parted ways once again. It would seem that anything involving business separates us and I would be left alone to wander foreign land. I exited the room and entered a world completely different from the Rapture I've come to know. I was in the lower wharf of Neptune's Bounty; no longer were there geometric ornaments, red marble floors, elegantly dressed individuals, or advertisement boards showcasing a certain product. Here there were rusty wooden floors, the atrocious smell of raw fish, lights that barely seemed to function, and unshaven dirty men who wore dirty clothes. The conditions here were unpleasant, but for strong willed individuals who were accustomed to this certain lifestyle, this was more than functional. You could see dozens of men unloading fish from returning subs and storing them in large crates. It was arduous labor; I hoped these men got decent wages for their work.

I felt like extra-terrestrial being while walking down these halls. Here were strong lower class residents of Rapture who made their living through hard labor. I was wearing a six hundred dollar suit and was spotless compared to the rest of these folks. When passing by these labor workers, they would give me a glare of spite and envy or a look of bafflement and confusion as to why I am here. People down here were so much different from the ones in the more lavish areas of Rapture; here they are . . . quieter, for the lack of a better word. I tried to understand why this was, until it hit me. Rapture was the promise that anyone can pursue their interests without federal interference, that anyone can be officers of industry. But like anywhere else in the world, Rapture needs a labor force to maintain the city. Someone to unload and deliver fish, someone to serve and make the food, someone to scrub the toilets. The destitutes, the disenfranchised, the insolvent, all garnered when enacting a system such as this. It is one of the many negative aspects of being human; to maintain a lavish lifestyle would mean taking advantage of the penniless by making them man servants and laborers who serve at the whim of their master. People like this never get chances to become captains of industry; there will always be a social hierarchy and those who are on the higher part of the spectrum will do everything in their power to maintain it. The same applies here. No wonder Fontaine was able to amass a great deal of support, because even in a utopia, class dichotomies exist.

I walked further down the sub docks, the laborers continued to frown on me. I soon came across a man who was working directly on my pathway; he was removing battered blocks of wood and was replacing them. I tried to get out of his way to not draw any attention to myself but he looked up and saw me. Suddenly he dropped his tools on the ground, stood up and started staring at me. It was a cold, sinister stare. There was not a single muscle moving on his face, it was motionless. All he did was move his head so his eyes would gaze upon mine. I looked away and passed him, trying to ignore him. I looked back and to my horror he was still staring at me with that cold, motionless face. My pace quickened, I now tried to leave the dock as fast as possible and found ground that was familiar to me. Everything here was alien. All I could see was suffering, an endless trail of misery. I finally found my way to The Fighting McDonagh's Tavern. To my surprise it was completely empty, not a soul to be found. The tavern itself was not very accommodating. The tables and chairs were wooden and the bar itself was relatively dirty and not very well maintained, though it had an incredible view of the city that made up for it and a nice sense of intimacy. I went to the bar tender and ordered a cola, I had my fair share of booze today, and I needed to stay sober, especially in a place like this. I took a seat on a chair right next to the window overlooking the stunning view. I pulled out a cigarette pack from my pocket. Before pulling out one, I couldn't help but notice the branding. 'Oxford Club' the highest quality cigarettes in Rapture, I put one in my mouth, took out my lighter and lit it. I was disappointed; somehow the damn Cubans are able to produce better quality cigars than the most technologically advanced society in the world. But I didn't care too much at this point, I wanted my memory of the surface to be completely erased, it's filled with nothing but somber memories of my misadventures. I took a deep breath and my distress dissipated into nothing and my mind was free of all burdens. I closed my eyes and took in the silence.

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

I opened my eyes and looked around the bar to see where that noise came from. The bartender was gone. I could not hear anyone from a distance.

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

It was coming from behind me. I slowly turned around to see what was making that sound. I gasped and almost fell off my chair in shock. It was the man who stared at me while I walked over here. Only this time he was smiling and looked almost joyous. He had a wrench in his hand and was tapping the table with it. I immediately assumed the worst and wanted to run, but he could have hit me while I had my eyes shut rather than make noise to wake up. I looked away and minded my own business, looking at the window and trying to relax in any way possible.

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

He continued to make that infernal noise, but I still ignored him.

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

 _TAP_

"Would you please stop that?" I said angrily to him "Christ, restrain yourself."

"Was that upsetting you?" he said curiously "Sorry pal, didn't mean to be a bother, I just get curious, ya know."

"Thank you", I said turning away and trying to get back to my meditative state

"So what brings ya' to this slum?" he said smiling "The cheap liquor I would assume, pricey stuff in the higher up areas."

I picked up my glass to show him what was inside it and then put it down.

"Oh good for you pal, it's hard to stay sober in Neptune's, the work's too much, bad wages and such. Heh, one time I had no cash what so ever and was craving a drink, begging old Wilkins to get me a bottle from the winery. Of course he said no, so me and my buddies broke into the winery. They took as many bottles as they could carry, but you see here I'm a man of taste, and I looked for the best bottle of wine in there. As it so happens I found a bottle that was made in 1922 and hasn't been opened until the day I stole it. I drank the entire thing and it was the best bottle of liquor I 've ever had, it was out of this world."

"Congratulation", I said to him sarcastically, raising my glass of cola.

"Thanks! So what about you?" he said

"What about me?"

"Have you ever taken a bottle in the winery?"

My heart stopped. I looked at him in shock and bewilderment.

"What… did you just say?" I said in a nervous frenzy

"The bottle in the winery," he said, his smile turned into a blank grim expression.

I fell off my chair and was gasping for air. This isn't real, this can't be real, I'm only dreaming, I'm only dreaming. He got up from his chair and walked closer to me slowly, with each footstep making an eerie sound as it hit the old wooden floor.

"Where is the bottle in the winery?"

I was sweating all over my body, I picked myself up and stepped away from him.

"You stay away from me," I said breathing heavily and pointing my finger at him. "YOU HEAR ME, YOU STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!"

I quickly turned around and jolted away from the bar. I ran as fast as I could to the bathysphere station. This can't be real, this can't be real, this isn't reality, this is all in my head. I continued to run and did not look back, I didn't dare look back. I just ran and ran.

"I'M STILL WAITING WILL, STILL WAITING!"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

" _WHERE IS THE BOTTLE IN THE WINERY?"_

I flew from my bed and gave out an earsplitting scream. The same goddamn dream, cannot close my eyes without hearing it. The bottle, the winery, what does it mean? I got off my bed and headed to the bathroom, washed my face and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red and I was developing dark circles around them. This was a dream, I told myself, nothing more. I knew what was real and what was not. Whatever that phrase means or whatever it points out to, it is nothing more than fiction of mind. And on a brighter note the dreams have been occurring less frequently which means I can focus on more important things such as the auditions for a lead vocalist today. Sander had called upon me and the rest of his disciples to join him on his 'quest' to find the last piece of his puzzle, his masterpiece. It was 9 am and the auditions started at 10. I had to hurry, if there was anything Sander hated, it was a laggard. I quickly got dressed and got out of my apartment. The bathysphere station was once again crowded and felt claustrophobic, I started questioning whether or not I should save up to get a bathysphere of my own. The price was ludicrous though; I could find extravagant apartments that were cheaper than private bathyspheres, though avoiding the crowds would make up for the costs.

I entered a metro bathysphere and to my surprise the same family that accompanied me on my first voyage to Frolic was on it. The father gave me a stern look, but the wife looked slightly embarrassed when I walked in. I took a seat and off the bathysphere went into the deep blue. The wife suddenly spoke.

"I'm sorry for my husband's outburst a few days ago" she said. She has a high pitched southern accent which changed pitch every time she finished a sentence "You probably don't remember us; we were on the same bathysphere one time."

"I remember," I said looking at the husband. "I'm sorry for using profanity in front of your children that was wrong of me."

The husband gave me a snarl, or something close to it. The wife raised an eyebrow and looked nothing short of disappointed at him. She then looked back at me and smiled.

"There is nothing to apologize for," she said regretfully, "He has a quick temper and sometimes acts before he thinks, as do most men. We heard your performance and it was truly something special. I hope you continue to have good fortune for many years to come."

"Thank you", I said a little bit annoyed. The last thing I needed was to talk to a man who snarls at strangers and a female with one of the most aggravating accents I had ever heard. The dreams and constant attention given to me all merged to create a merciless headache which, henceforth, put me in foul mood. But they just continued talking. "Saw you at Kashmir last night, drinking away at the bar. Something bothering you?"

"What?" I said incredulously. Though I had no desire to hear what she had to say. "No that's a mistake. I was in my room at that time. You must've confused me with someone else."

"But-"

"I was in my room."

They got the message and the rest of the ride was made up of glorious silence. I was heading back to Frolic once more; the auditions were taking place in Fleet Hall, my birthplace in this utopia. Everyone knew me from my performance at that hall, nothing else really. So I was delighted to come back to the theatre, only this time I will be in the auditorium judging others rather than on the stage praying for mercy, so my stress was at a minimum.

I arrived at Frolic and quickly left the family, I did not want to engage in any type of social interaction as of now. I had a bit of paranoia after a recent event and only engaged in conversations if I had to. I got compliments here and there, gave all of them a quick 'thank you' and left. I reached Fleet Hall and gave off a sigh of relief, there was just too much happening in Frolic. I became uncomfortable if staying there for too long. I went up the stairs and too my surprise there was a line of young women waiting to enter Fleet Hall. I assumed they were all here for the audition. They were all typical candidates with typical personas. Some were giving off nauseating giggles to each other, some were putting on an excessive amount of make up, all of them were overly eager and either too confident or too nervous. Looking at this batch made me wonder if there was any hope left for the art world. They were artificial scamps who did not believe in anything but themselves. Many of them recognized me as I walked up the stairs and began giving me a ludicrous amount of praise, not only for my performance, but for my physical appearance. I was no moron; I knew the only reason they were behaving like this was so I could put in the good word to Sander about them. They were trying to appeal to my baser interests, giving me compliments like 'what a ravishing man you are' in an over sexualized tone. They thought I was a simple man with simple pleasures; how wrong they were and little did they know that I would simply call anyone who tried to flatter me off the stage. If one tries to bribe a man to get the role, then they themselves knew they did not have the necessary skill to obtain it.

The line seemed endless, each girl would cause so much commotion that the one in front of her would look back to see what all the fuss is about and join in. I felt like I was getting mauled by multiple lions as they tried to put their hands on me. It was a process that repeated itself every time I passed one of these girls. I saw the entrance to Fleet Hall, wonderful; I can end this useless diversion and join my colleagues, but then something grabbed my eye and evoked curiosity. Every one of these girls tried to flatter me in some matter, except one. In front of me, past most of these artificially exuberant ladies was a girl that did not look back. Even as I drew myself closer to her presence and she could hear all the upheaval, she did not look back. Why was this? Was she deaf or was there more to it? I went closer to her, ignoring all the others around me. She was wearing a tight white blouse, a black skirt and had stockings on her legs. Her hair was shoulder length and flowed down in curly waves. I could not help but stare at this point, I was mesmerized by her. I had to see her face; you can always tell what's bubbling in an individual by simply looking into his or her face. I slowly went up to her; she was smoking a cigarette and letting out large volumes of smoke seamlessly. I got in front of her and was flabbergasted at what I saw. Her face was striking, she was white, had dark vivid make up, and vibrant red lipstick on. But what was surprising is that she bore no resemblance to her fellow candidates, while they were easy to see through, she was shrouded in complete darkness, and I could not read anything of her. She soon noticed me gawking and stared right back at me. Her eyes were cold and sinister, the instant she looked at me, I felt venom enter my body. I was still and kept staring at her, mesmerized and frightened at what I was looking at.

"Don't you have something better to be doing, Mr. Buchanan?" She said. She had a deep seductive voice that made me even more enamored by her.

"Mr. Buchanan, you're making a scene," she said, blowing out another puff of smoke from her cigarette.

The spell broke and I slowly came back to reality. I looked at her and was slightly embarrassed, I just stared at her in front of all these candidates. But I couldn't help myself, how could I? I was a man and she was a goddess in my eyes.

"I'm terribly sorry," I said nervously "I don't know what came of me."

"I do," she said sternly "You're wasting your time, I suggest you continue on, and don't look back."

This was a challenging thing for me to do. I had never felt this way about a female before, I feel completely flabbergast and exposed emotionally. I never had an issue reading women; they were such obvious creatures with predictable personas and meager ambitions. But this one was different, she had a past, a dark somber past that I sought to unveil. But as of now, for the sake of my reputation and my good graces with Sander, I had to leave. I turned around and continued my walk to Fleet Hall, not looking back, knowing that if I did, I would not leave her side. I finally passed the line of women and entered the theatre. The first thing I noticed was the ludicrous decorations put on the stage; more hanging cupids, only this time with bunny masks. In the center of the auditorium were four men, I recognized one of them, it was none other than Kyle Fitzgerald, a disciple of Sander's that told me about his masters trap during my audition. I walked towards him; he saw me and gave out a face of resentment and envy.

"Hello, gentlemen," I said, acting a bit too prideful for my own good

"Buchanan," said Kyle, "This is Martin Finnegan, Silas Cobb, and Hector Rodriguez."

"Pleasure to meet all of you," I said shaking all of their hands "I'm assuming you all are disciple of Sander?"

"Of course!" said Martin Finnegan, he had a preposterously deep crackling voice "He's what most people would call a genius in the arts. I owe a lot of thanks to him for choosing me."

"I see," I said, not surprised by the fabricated praise he was giving Sander. Anything less and he would be expunged from his masters inner circle, "if you don't mind me asking, what's your particulae skill set?"

"I sculpt ice."

"How?" I said a bit confused. "Do they have large freezers holding blocks of ice?"

He was startled by my question. He probably forgot that I was still a newcomer here and had not the slightest clue on how half the things operate here.

"Oh that's right you're new here," he said laughing "Here let me give you a demonstration."

He went next to one of the chairs and put his hand on it. Suddenly ice started to envelope from his hand and it started spreading all over the chair. My eyes widened in disbelief. I knew this was the work of ADAM but it was amazing to watch and behold its wonderments.

"The beauty of ADAM", said Finnegan "Makes life a breeze."

I was about to continue talking, but music suddenly turned on. It was Tchaikovsky's 'Waltz of the Flowers'. The lights dimmed and the spotlights focused on another entry way to the theatre. What the hell was this? Have the auditions started, and if so will Sander not be joining us? That would be a crescendo of the song came, pigeons came out of the entry way and then a man, it was none other than Sander Cohen in his full artistic glory.

"Welcome my noble disciples," Sander said with absolute conviction. "How wonderful to have you all in the dominion of the artist."

He slowly walked toward us, buzzing with cheerful fervor. He looked at me and gave a large smile.

"I trust all of you have been acquainted with my new butterfly," Sander said "But that is not why we have gathered here today. No . . . we're here to acquire a songbird, one that will melt the hearts of men and doubters alike. You five represent the best of Rapture in what you do, and that is why I have chosen each of you to serve under my hand. But the question remains, can you gentlemen serve as judges of the arts as well? I have brought you all here too stand beside me and take part in this grand choosing. By the end of this day, I will have all the necessary pieces to put those damn doubters too shame. So come, come, sit, time is of the essence. Every second squandered is another opportunity that becomes unavailing."

We quickly sat down in the middle of the auditorium, not wanting to burst Sander's anger in anyway.

"LET THE CHERRY-PICKING COMMENCE." Sander said with great passion

The lights in the auditorium dimmed and the spotlights focused their gaze on the stage. This was all very dramatic, but very fitting for Sander. Our first candidate was a woman by the name of Anna Hendricks; she was a gorgeous blonde with very seductive mannerisms. Unfortunately those were all her positive qualities; her performance was dull and lacked passion. I whispered to Sander that she was no good and he agreed. He raised his hand and yelled, "That will be all."

The next candidate was a woman by the name of Gabriela Cortez. She was beautiful and had incredible body language, but her performance was atrocious, she forgot many of the lines to the song she performed. She was immediately called out. My frustration already began to show. Just by going up the stairs to Fleet Hall, I recognized that most of these girls lacked the skill or conviction to meet Sander's standards. I knew that most of these performances were either going to be mediocre or flat out awful. In fact the only performance that I was truly anticipating was that of the mysterious girl I was stupidly gawking at. What surprises will she bring on stage? Can she meet or even surpass Sander's expectations? We went through audition after audition as fast as berry picking, Sander's optimism turned to bitter contempt, he expected by now to find his so called songbird, though all he found were crows and vultures. I looked at Fitzgerald in disbelief and whispered to him, "This place carries the world's best and brightest, yet we can't find one goddamn vocalist here?"

"Oh rise, Rapture, rise!

We turn our hopes up to the skies!

Oh rise, Rapture, rise!

Upon your wings our dreams will fly."

"ENOUGH YOU USELESS SWINE. GET OUT!" Sander yelled to one of the candidates who was singing

Tears started flowing down her eyes and she ran out of the stage. For god sakes she was singing the Rapture Anthem for her performance, who in their right mind would do that? Sander calmed down, he looked exhausted, we all were exhausted. Hearing one horrendous performance after another can be quite a burden on the spirit. We needed a sign of hope to get us out of this state of despondency. If the next candidate turned out to be as mediocre as the rest, I swear I thought Sander will shoot her and cause wide spread panic in this city.

Sander called out the next contestant, all of us gave a sigh of frustration, we all desperately needed a break, but Sander plunged forward. Though to my surprise, it was not one of the many superficial girls in line, it was her. She stood at the center of the stage, spotlights pointing their beam directly at her. She had a blank expression on her face, no sign of nervousness or overconfidence. I looked at my fellow judges to see their facial reactions, their frustration turned into curiosity, for every girl that came here showed off their emotions when they came on stage. It varied from nervousness, to artificial passion, all the way down to extreme peppiness. But she gave no sign to what she was thinking and that immediately grabbed all of our attention, even Sanders. Suddenly music started to play, a light guitar melody accompanied by a string bass. We all gave out a gasp; we did not have an orchestra set up for the auditions. Where was the music coming from? It was inconsequential though, my eyes were fixed on her.

"Now . . . you say you're lone-ly;

You cry the long . . . night through

Well, you can cry . . . me a river

Cry . . . me a river

I cried a river o-ver you"

I was motionless, powerless against her sultry eyes and sumptuous voice. She had me under her spell once more, only this time it could not be undone. She had an ethereal grace that was breathtaking. Her pale, flawless skin seemed to almost glow in the light, and her eyes filled with pools of gloom and blackness.

"You drove me, near-ly drove me, out of my head

While you . . . ne-ver shed . . . a tear

Re-mem-ber, I re-mem-ber, all . . . that you said

You told me love was too ple-beian

Told me you were through with me and

Now . . . you say you love me"

I thought I had it all figured out; love, affection, infatuation it all seemed preposterous to me. But now, looking at her, perfect her, I did not know what to think, I could not see myself without her. I needed to know who she was, this creature that haunts me.

"Come on and cry me a river

Cry me a river

I cried a river over you

I cried a river over you"

She stopped singing and the music stopped as well. Prolonged silence began once she ended. I looked to my side to give Sander my extremely positive assessment of her, but I did not have to say a word. He began to clap slowly, and one by one, his disciples followed as well. Her expression still didn't change; no sign of joy or glee, she just gave us that blank stare.

"BRAVO, BRAVO THAT WAS EXQUISITE MADAM!" Sander said giving her a loud applause, "Fitzpatrick, be a dear and tell the rest of the candidates that the auditions have officially ended, for I have found my songbird."

"Yes of course," Fitzpatrick said walking away from the auditorium and into its main entrance.

"Come closer little songbird, let me have a look at you. Finnegan, TURN ON THOSE INFERNAL LIGHTS" Sander said in a mild outburst.

"Yes, sir," said Finnegan, who quickly left his seat and left the auditorium. It seemed like disciples are dropping like flies.

The lights came on and the spotlights were turned off, she went down from the stage and stood right next to Sander.

"Don't be shy, the artist must measure every diminutive detail of his creation, so come, let me caress you." Sander said in an almost sinister like tone.

The girl finally makes her first facial expression, an expression of disgust and repugnance. This came to me as a surprise, she made no attempt to hide her state of mind and succumb to his whims; she was blunt and didn't fear this psychopathic individual. Though in the end she did move closer to him, and Sander, that slithering snake, put his hand on her arm and moved down. He closed his eyes while touching every inch of her body. Her face continued to show her repulsion of him, but she did not lose her calm.

"Yes . . . , yes . . . you will do nicely." Sander said

At that point she broke, but not in the way I expected. She removed Sander's hand from her and then said "That's quite enough, Sander, I'm not here to play these games with you, do you have a job for me or was this a fruitless venture?"

At that point I was simply stunned. She was either the most courageous woman on the face of this planet or just stupid to be this upfront with Sander. I looked at him and was even more stunned, for all the outbursts he has given for the most miniscule things, he just continued smiling at her after she challenged him.

"My . . ., my . . ., you're a spirited one," Sander said putting his face closer to hers, "Though in the future, I suggest you watch you tone."

Sander furthered himself from her, took a seat and crossed his legs. "My disciples, I believe it is time for you to unveil your thoughts and speak your minds. What is your outlook on this performance? Come, come you are not here to act as inanimate objects, voice your opinions, speak!"

All of us were silent, he says voice our opinion but in truth if we go against his, he will see you as a doubter and you will be shunned from his inner circle. Giving the correct answer is a matter of life and death in terms of our careers. Hector Rodriguez spoke first.

"She's too free minded of an individual, who may try to belittle you with any chance she gets, I think we should continue the auditions to find someone more open to your methodology."

"And you're an obedient slave trying to please his master by giving him what he wants to hear." She said in a cool manner "Why don't you start your assessment with something that has a higher degree of importance."

Rodriguez gave out a laugh and then said, "So tell me then, how I should start my assessment of you?"

"How about you start with the performance," she said giving Rodriguez a cold glare, "That is what you're here for, to judge my performance, not the manner in which I react to men eliciting their desire on me."

Rodriguez stopped smiling. He was outwitted and outplayed by this mysterious girl in a single sentence. He used my first assumption of her boldness against Sander; that she was dim witted. His play failed tremendously. He looked at Sander who shook his head in disapproval.

"Rodriguez, Rodriguez, it is not her that belittles my muse, but you; incompetent, unapt you." Sander said. "Go . . . your amenity is no longer needed today."

Rodriguez did not dare question him, he quickly left his seat and exited the auditorium with Cobb followed the same fate, being outwitted and outmatched by this girl and turning his assessment against him. Soon I was the only disciple left with Sander.

"What about you butterfly?" Sander said to me "Do you approve of my choice?"

It did not take long for me to think of a response to that question. All these disciples of Sander were so blindly obedient to him, that they did not look at what was right in front of them, a goddess. Sander recognized it and I recognized it. All I had to do was speak my mind.

"Sander, what I see in front of me is no ordinary girl; she is a divine being that has descended from the heavens to show us how derisory our attempt to capture perfection truly are. Any man who would reject such a heavenly being is either deaf and blind, or simply a fool."

After I spoke my mind everyone was silent. The girl did not challenge my assessment, and why would she? I told Sander how much I admired her and the performance, nothing more. He looked at me for a long while, testing me to see if my declaration was true.

"Very well Buchanan, you have swayed me. She is now my songbird." Sander said "Ahhh how silly of me, we have not formally greeted one another. Sander Cohen, but of course, you already perceive that which is obvious. And to whom might I be speaking to?"

"Elizabeth," she said while lighting another cigarette, "Just, Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth!" Sander said, he suddenly gave out a mild laugh "Ahhhh Buchanan, this one truly has descended from the heavens. Thank you for sharing your . . . appellation. That will be all I need of you today."

This girl, this . . . Elizabeth, she did not hesitate to leave and left Sander's side instantly. I wanted to follow, how desperately I wanted to and speak to her. But Sander wanted me to stay, and so I did.

"Little butterfly, you're assessment was exceedingly positive of her, is there something more that you wish to tell me?" Sander said

"She gave an outstanding performance and showed more tenacity than any woman I have ever seen. She is as true a vocalist as we will see down here." I said

"Ohhhh Buchanan," Sander said shaking his head in disapproval "If there is anything I can stomach less than a doubter, it is a prevaricator, a liar. I saw the way your eyes glistened at the sight of her. They lit up like a tree on Christmas Eve. You feel a certain infatuation towards her. Tell me, did her erotic body affect your judgment or did you speak truly?"

I had nothing to say. For a man I thought was so blinded by his own artistic temperament, he had keen insight on the way men think. Nevertheless he was disgusting; the way he spoke of her was demeaning on both her and my account. Sander put his hand on my shoulder and then said "There, there; you have nothing to fear from me. Though you must be slightly more cautious before pursuing this path, if you place her on your canvas, you may not like what you see."

Fright converted into curiosity. What did he mean? 'I may not like what I see'. I asked him, "What do you mean by that?"

"In the realm of the artist, we see all sorts of characters that we must gloss to perfection to capture their full essence. These characters range from the gleeful to the malicious, all the way down to the pessimistic sort. My songbird is the type of character men such as you should evade. She is what we call a femme fatale."

"A femme fatale, sir?"

"Yesss, they are seductive and mysterious creatures of the night, the type that men fall prey to due to their mysterious nature. But if you choose to follow such a creature, then it will undoubtedly be your end. That is what they do; they feed off men's greatest flaw, desire, and with it, lead man to his destruction."

"I don't believe that," I said insistently "All people are born genuine and therefore have genuine traits, all I have to do is find it and all will be set right."

"Buchanan, Buchanan, your skills on the piano is unchallenged, but your lack of propensity in the understanding of human beings leaves me…. unfulfilled. Whatever traits you deem genuine she had are no more. Vile men in her life took that away from her in the name of desire and turned her into what she is today, a flytrap. It is not possible to strip away what you see as artifice, for that artifice is what she is now."

I paused at this statement. He has this innate understanding of man that most don't have. Otherwise how can he possibly give such a profound assessment of her with just meeting her? I suppose when painting any sort of work, looking at a certain figure for days gives you a deeper understanding of him or her in ways that are impossible to achieve through normal social interactions. As insane as he seems at times, he had wisdom on certain things and maybe if I followed his advice in this case, I could get myself out of this hand binding situation.

"Okay, I see what you mean;" I said "I'll stop immediately."

I was about to get up and leave the presence of Sander but he stopped me once again.

"There is one more thing I must mention," he said with a conniving smile, "Because you feel much compassion for my songbird, I must insist that you two partake in my shows together."

"What?" I said a little bit shocked. Was he now contradicting himself now?

"I care for your well-being, truly I do. But the artist must make certain . . .sacrifices in order to achieve divinity. True compassion and love is difficult to find in a utopia so focused on self. Your affection and desire towards her shall be hallmarked for generations to come in my muse. You two are now one; you act as the hands and she the voice."

"So you want me to dig my own grave? I don't know what you're saying?" I said confused and shell-shocked.

"Not quite," Sander said, "I am giving you this undertaking because I see that you are more than just a man. You opened yourself to the spirit of the eternal and became the conduit. I saw it during your bravura show. If you can achieve this, you have the power to overcome and subdue the efforts of a lesser being such as Elizabeth."

I was almost flattered by his confidence in me, but the issue was that I didn't feel it in myself. When I am in her presence, I simply become dumbfounded and still; completely bound by her spell. I certainly hope Sander is right about my ability to overcome it; otherwise this partnership will be my undoing.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

 _The Little Sister's Orphanage: In troubled times, give your little girl the life that she deserves. Boarding and education free of charge! After all, children ARE the future of Rapture._

Rapture's Public Address Announcements, you cannot go into any public hall or bathysphere station without hearing these messages. They were always reminding us that Andrew Ryan's way was always the right way. On top of that, if you made a good sum of money, you got to advertise your business through the announcements so the whole population could know about it. I agree with the entirety of Andrew Ryan's ideology. Because of it, I was happier than I had ever been in the past 5 years. Though I could not help but feel that he was simply shoving his message 'down our throat'; parasite this, and parasite that, one warning after another through these announcements. It almost made me feel as if this was not a utopia at all, but rather an autocratic dystopia in the guise of a utopia. But when walking with an extravagantly rich crowd in lavish malls, the announcements only added to the surreal atmosphere that was Rapture. So why was I complaining? Simply put, I was in an elevator, trying to reach the thirtieth floor of one of many apartment buildings in this city. After finally reaching the fifteenth floor, I already heard three of these monotonous announcements. Elevator music would suffice by this point.

I looked at the card I had in my hand and opened it to read again.

 _Dear Buchanan,_

 _My family and I are hosting a small celebratory dinner party at my home. It's a yearly tradition of ours; I bring in friends and colleagues to share dinner with and have elevated discussions on top of that. You would be the first 'artist' I'd ever invite to this event. It would be wonderful to prove to the rest of my cronies that not all you chaps are terrible conversation partners. I live in Mercury Suites, room 34. Hope to see you there._

 _Your friend,_

 _William Firth._

I closed the letter after reading it. I had not been to an intimate dinner party for quite some time. I was not sure if I could meet Firth's expectations; I have a track record for being a terrible conversation partner. But I had come this far, surely a dinner party will not prove to be my undoing.

The elevator stopped at the 20th floor and one of the few people inside got out. Miraculously none of the people in the elevator recognized me or gave me empty 'congratulations' for my performance. The first few days after it, I was happy to receive so much praise from the people, happily accepting it and acquainting myself with all types of people in Rapture. Now I feel like a mouse trapped by monstrous bears, gulping me up to satisfy their insatiable hunger. Or a mouse getting chewed up by a cat that wants to satisfy its sadistic persona. In the end, it seems that mice are always played out as the prey in the natural world. That's one thing that mice and celebrities have in common, we will always be the victim of someone else's needs.

We now reached the 25th floor and the last person inside the elevator got out. I gave a sigh of relief and started pressing the close button multiple times in order to achieve some form of privacy.

"Hold it, please!" A woman screamed

I put my hand forward to hold the doors and they opened. A blonde woman came through. She was in her mid-30s and was striking to look at, as were a majority of the female population in Rapture.

"Thank you," she said looking at me, but then she paused and gave a face of awe and then a smile. "You're Rapture's rising star John Buchanan!"

The spree had officially broken. What's next; an autograph? Small talk? Will it ever end? But we were in a small room together, it would be rude of me to say nothing, and she might be someone influential in the city, I did not want to take the risk of being discourteous. "Is that what their calling me these days? Jeez Rapture needs a better class of stars."

"Why?" She said "You're a new face here; we need people like you, more than you think, and you shouldn't put yourself down, it's not good for the spirit."

Her response was different from the praise that I was used to. This woman, there was something sweet about her; from her subtle tenderness to her gleeful smile. She was different from the rest of the females in Rapture. Seduction was their forte, but not in the case of this one. I do not know how to describe her but I knew I had seen people like her; they are just of rare breed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?" I said

"Oh… OH how silly of me," she said getting a little red, "I'm Diane. . Diane McClintock."

"Diane," I said, showing off a little too much interest unintentionally.

We reached the thirtieth floor and both exited the elevator. I assumed this was where we would part ways but we were heading in the same direction.

"Where are you heading?" I said curiously

"Nowhere really, one of Ryan's friend is hosting a dinner party, he was invited and I insisted that I join him, I can't help myself with social occasions." She said giving off a little laugh.

"Well as it so happens we're heading to the same place." I said also giving off a smile

"Really? Oh how exciting! I can introduce you to Ryan, I'm sure he will be happy to meet you." Said Diane

"Actually we already met on multiple occasions." I said, a little sad that I burst her optimism.

"Oh… he didn't tell me anything about that," she said

After that we were quiet for a minute and were trying to find our way to William's apartment. These complexes run like mazes, giving you a hint on where you need to go only to realize that it was a dead end. We gave up on the map and started following the numbers of other rooms, hoping no twists would turn up. We started walking across our chosen path and I decided to speak again.

"What's your affiliation with Ryan?" I asked interestedly.

"You don't know?" she said smiling, "I'm his companion."

"His lover?" I said a bit bewildered, I never imagined Ryan to be the sort. I suppose anything is possible.

"Well, putting it that way it can sound a bit awkward," she said "But yes. Oh look, we're here."

I turned my head and saw room 34, right in front of me. We looked at each other for a split second then looked away and I rang the doorbell. The door immediately opened, it was Rupert, William's son.

"Rupert!" I said stepping into the apartment and shaking his hand "Good to see you again, this is-."

"Ms. McClintock," Rupert said "Yes we've met several times, how are you this evening?"

"Famished my stomach feels like it's turning backwards," she said giving out a small laugh "Can you tell Ryan I'm here?"

"Ms. McClintock, I don't know how to put this," Rupert said "Ryan is not coming tonight; he's a bit preoccupied with other matters."

"Oh….. that's a shame." She said showing off a face of gloom. "The third time he stood me up."

"I'm sorry, is there anything I can do for you?" Rupert asked earnestly.

"I can use a drink if you don't mind." She said

"Certainly! Right this way"

They both left and I was alone next to the door. I stood there for a minute and wondered, does little Rupert have a crush on Diane? The way he completely brushed me off and instantly sought to serve her? Either he is a sedulous server or young love has sprouted from the ground; except that sprout fell in love with a middle aged tree that is protected by a bulldozer, otherwise known as Andrew Ryan. But this was all pointless speculation, I decided to end it and walk into the apartment.

The apartment itself was beautiful and spacious. There was a large open area that made up the living room; it was occupied with lavish red furniture, small curtained tables that held different sorts of books and a center table that has a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice surrounded by intricately designed wine glasses. The floor was composed of red marble tiles with geometric shapes in the center to add to the art deco vibe. They were also along the walls which contained a variety of different abstract paintings. To my surprise there was also a mini bar that had a bartender in it. That was where Diane was preoccupied at the moment, along with her 'close friend'. A large dining table occupied the end of the living room, but it was completely empty; no food, no silverware, no glasses of any sort. But there was red table cloth on top and over a dozen chairs. Maybe William would surprise us. The most stunning aspect of the apartment is undoubtedly its view of Rapture. The front wall was made up of curved glass that showcased parts of the city such as Fort Frolic and The Kashmir. It also brought in rays of dim light from the ever so distant sun.

The apartment was absolutely packed; there were over a dozen elegantly dressed guests. Unlike the New Year's Party though, they were not wearing masks and I could actually see all their faces, which made for a much more comforting evening. Though like the New Year's party, they were a rambunctious crowd that liked to express themselves more so than the average individual. Smooth jazz was playing from a phonograph at the edge of the living room adding a soothing tone to the party. Put all these elements together and you had your typical upper class gathering. My only hope was that they did not find my mannerisms and manner of speech to be appalling in anyway. I do come from a more slum like lifestyle.

I saw William at the end of the room with his wife talking to a few men. I walked towards him to grab his attention. He immediately saw me and smiled.

"John, you made it!" he said approaching me, putting his hand over my shoulder. He then screamed, "Everyone listen here, this is John Buchanan, and he is an artist. Now I know what you lot might be thinking. 'An artist? Why in bloody hell did you bring an artist to your home?' Well let me put that he is an exceptionally gifted young man in both the piano and in the art of conversation. So treat him fairly and do not discriminate. Cheers!"

"Cheers!" the group yelled

And so my adventure began, but not in the way most people would imagine. Rather than travel daring roads and battle horrifying creatures of the night, I was prepping myself to be . . . proper; to use the vocabulary of the wealthy and adopt their body language, to not make a scene through expressing my thoughts on a certain political or social belief. This all sounds imprisoning and burdensome but it would be much worse for me if I act like . . . myself. These are simple people with a firm set of beliefs, and if I express mine and hinder their point in any way; it will not end up well for me.

William introduced me to a man by the name of Lloyd Webster; a tall sophisticated man in his mid-50s. He was the creator of a series of vending devices that sell a variety of high quality snacks and other such commodities. He called these machines, 'The Circus of Value'. They became extremely popular and are now in every corner of Rapture. Too imagine that a simple thing like a highly ornamented and flamboyant vending device with a daunting clown plastered on it would become one of Raptures most demanded products. The consumers of this underwater utopia had strange taste indeed. He was a radical man as well as highly self-interested, talking about stocking these machines with more precarious material to boost his stock.

Next I met a cosmetic surgeon by the name of Dr. J.S. Steinman. Unlike everyone else here though, I heard of this fellow. He was well known and has made revolutionary discoveries in the field. Andrew Ryan personally invited him to Rapture to practice his field without the moral obligations of the surface. He had a medical practice inside Raptures medical pavilion and takes his many patients there for him to work on and treat. They all claim he performs miracles and is able to turn the most deformed individual into an unimaginable beauty. He's grown quite rich from his work and is now among Rapture's highest brass. I asked him what he owed his resounding success too. He replied with "ADAM provided the means to my success. My vision of perfection led me there."

And so the cycle continued, I met one successful businessman after another, and though I found their path to success fascinating to listen to, I could care less about their political beliefs which they seemed adamant to share. Eventually I decided to go to the mini bar and get a few shots of alcohol myself. Diane McClintock was nowhere to be seen, but Rupert was here still, I wonder if she just brushed him off. Or it could be nothing at all; it did not matter, for my highest priority right then was to get shots of Vodka. I sat down on one of the stools and ordered three shots for my first round and started to ponder over my thoughts. Everything feels so empty, nothing here bares substance or value to me, it is all just a set of formalities I am forced to compose to carry a certain image. Maybe I am philosophically astute and am able to uncover all the mysteries surrounding human nature. Or maybe I am just introverted and dislike being in crowds for too long, therefore possessing me to make quick judgments before properly assessing something. In the end, all I wanted . . . all I truly wanted . . . was to be with her . . . Elizabeth. It was all I had desired ever since the auditions. Yes Sander warned me about my potential downfall if I pursue this path, and it would be easy for me to avoid this if I was simply infatuated with her. But it was not infatuation; it was possession, of my mind and body. How can the human mind fight against the supernatural properties of possession? I tried looking for her countless times; I looked in Frolic, Mercury Suites, Arcadia, yet she was nowhere to be found. The best thing I could do then was to think about her; her dark eyes and curly hair, her blood red lipstick and flawless skin. I thought that was all I would think about for the rest of the day, but suddenly I got a slap in the back. I looked behind me and it was none other than William. He gave me his typical smile but looked agitated as well. Was it something I did?

"Thank you for coming, none of the geezers over there make for good drinking partners, rambling on about 'the order of things' and other such matters. It wounds the head. So here I am with a friend hoping to have a simple discussion on modest matters such as love. Tell me, have any girls caught your eye?" William asked curiously, he was not drunk but he did indulge in a few drinks, which explains his boisterous attitude.

"Will," I said, also a little out of loop from the drinks, "Have you met someone by the name of Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth?" he said waiting for a last name.

"Just Elizabeth, she's the girl that went through and passed Sander's auditions, his official new songbird?" I asked, hoping he would shed light on this situation.

"Elizabeth . . . Never heard of her. Do you happen to know what area in Rapture she lives in?" Will said

"Not a clue."

"Hmm, a mysterious songbird", He said "that would make for quite a story."

"Cheers."

We were quiet for a few minutes and just sat in the bar motionless pondering upon mysteries that tangled our mind, until William finally spoke.

"Who is this girl too you?" he asked

"For now, a curiosity." I said in response "I don't know who she is, where she is from, or even what her last name is. All I know is that she was different from all the other girls in the auditions; she was a complete mystery to me. That alone can drive someone like me into madness if I don't uncover this mystery."

"You know, for an artist, when it comes to abstract concepts such as affection, you are painfully technical." He said "You're in love with her; you should chin up and accept that."

"Now wait a-"

"You've been thinking of her night and day, you think that nothing in this world matters anymore if you are not alongside her. You have searched endless hours to find out where she lives. I think this is more than just a mere curiosity."

I was stunned by his answer, "How do you know all this?"

"See that young gorgeous woman over there?" he said, pointing at his wife. "I was so dumbfounded by her presence that I hid from her in fear that I would pass out just from looking at her. When I finally bolstered enough courage to ask her to the school dance . . . well . . . those were happy days my friend. Of course I was naïve back in the days, I'm sure you won't need the paramedic's every time you look at this Elizabeth."

I could not help but smile boisterously at the whole story. I can always depend on William to lighten the mood. For a man in his mid-40s, he had the exuberance and energy of someone in the prime of his youth, a quality that very few possess. We paused from our conversation and began reminiscing on our lives, looking down at the table and smiling.

"John . . . aside from the girl . . . is there anything else troubling you?" William said with great concern. I looked at him in surprise and gave him a small laugh. But he did not share my euphoria. ". . . John, is there something I should be worried about?"

"Will, everything's swell; foods great, liquors great, job pays well. I'm as happy as a tornado in a trailer park . . . though obviously less destructive" I said to Will laughing. Finally that worried face went away and he joined in laughing while giving a sigh of relief.

"Seems that way," Will said, continuing to drink his vodka. "More fruitless rumors I suppose."

"Rumors?"

"Some janitor in the-"

William stopped himself as he noticed something odd, the apartment quickly became silent. Amelia was ringing a bell and looked at William as if he was supposed to do something. I looked at him; he was a bit confused at first but soon the light bulb did pull through.

"Ladies and gentleman," William said with a commanding voice "If I can have you all gather in the dining table. Dinner is waiting."

Everyone's eyes began to glow. I thought they would all run in a chaotic frenzy to the dinner table. Instead they stayed true to their position and walked to the table, with the typical grace and elegance I was accustomed to seeing. William sat at the end of the table while his wife at the front, the rest of us just sat down wherever there was a chair available. It was strange though, he tells us to sit down yet the table is still empty, not even any glasses to be found. I seemed to be the only one curious about this. Everyone else was just casually conversing in the table. I looked at William; he was looking away from the rest of us and gave a 'thumbs up'. I then hear the door open and look back. To my surprise I see waiters and waitresses carrying a multitude of covered plates. They surrounded the table and gave one plate to each guest. They exited, then another group of waiters entered, this time carrying things like utensils, glasses and expensive wine bottles. In a matter of seconds the table was set and the platters uncovered. What I saw in the plate made my heart melt; it was steak, the best looking steak I had ever seen in my life. It was cooked to perfection and seared with sauce and blue cheese. I was stunned by this, and by the looks of the rest of the guests, they were as well. We all looked at William and gave him a round of applause, for he has certainly made the month of January something truly special. We all began to eat; I cut my first piece and immediately put it into my mouth. It exploded with flavor; this was a heavenly delight, which made me feel guilty that I must swallow it in the end. Why waste such eloquence only for it to be digested in our bodies to come out as feces.

"If you don't mind me asking, where did you acquire such sumptuous meat? Steak isn't exactly in high supply anymore." Asked one of the guests

"Well it was quite simple actually." Said William, talking while there was still food in his mouth "You see after Fontaine's smuggling ring was disbanded, there was an excessive amount of contraband items still in Rapture. Some items went against the Ryan ideology and had to be expunged. Then there were items that carried no symbolic residue at all but were very profitable; items such as steak. I had a longing for meat from surface animals and decided to buy all of it. Did it cost me a preposterous amount of money? Yes! Was it worth every dollar? Absolutely! I hope you all feel the same way"

They all nodded in agreement and continued on with their meal. As the dinner moved on, everyone started conversing to a high degree; we shared laughs, compliments and other such pleasantries. But the main attraction of this dinner was not the small chats or the food, but rather the debates. In a social setting such as the living room, one does not engage in deep discussions that can take up a large amount of time, but rather just engage in what I like to refer to as small talk. It begins with things like 'Good to see you', 'how was your day?', 'how's the family?' 'It was nice seeing you'. It is usually the same process over and over again; no one wants to stay with one person for too long and therefore makes quick time for each guest. But in the dining table it is a different matter; here you can express your belief in certain topics and have long debates on it. The best part is that the person you're debating with cannot leave the table until he or she is finished with all the courses, otherwise it would be looked upon as a sign of disrespect. Almost an hour in and we had gone over topics such as whether or not it is right to take advantage of these contraband items, whether Andrew Ryan made the just decision in putting down Frank Fontaine, and soon we discussed the place of social classes. A female by the name of Lucy Hemingway argued that those in the lower realm of the stratosphere should remain where they are.

"Look, it's not that I have anything against those who are less privileged, all I am saying is that there is a natural order to this world and those who try to amend it make everyone suffer. Our epicenter will collapse and the economy comes crashing to the ground."

"But this is the realm of Ryan," says one of the guests. "He believes in the progression of human beings, both mentally and materially. For them to be able to pursue any path without interference from some federal institution, if we deny them these basic rights then we are no better than the infidels on the surface."

"But doing so will not only mean the degradation of our economy but our culture and welfare as well," Lucy said "Sure any individual with a creative streak has the ability to acquire a certain amount of wealth. But will he ever be able to truly live amongst us? Will he eat peas with a spoon or a knife? Will he be content with what he has or will he seek more wealth and do unspeakable things to acquire them?"

"You're referring to Frank Fontaine, aren't you?" I asked

"As a matter of fact I am. Here is a man who had everything; an insurmountable amount of wealth, the respect of the lower class, and power. Yet that wasn't enough, he needed more, he wanted all of Rapture to himself. He wanted us to bend down on our knees and to do it he performed barbaric experiments on people like us to get what he wanted. He is a man who was in the bottom of the food chain and then rose up to rival Ryan, and we paid the price for that. Never again could this happen, with new wealth come new greed, we must be vigilant of such things and prevent it from happening again, Ryan's way is our path to salvation."

We were all silent after this, I personally did not have much to say but usually the other guests would speak instantly, so why stay quiet now?

"Well surely one of you has something to say?" She asked looking at all of us for a response.

"It's not that we don't have a response Lucy, we know about your loss. Why bring this up?" said William

"Don't treat me like a pestilent child; I am perfectly capable of discussing this subject without getting emotionally hysterical. Come, speak your mind." Lucy said insistently

William was hesitant and looked a little bit guilty but then spoke, "How did you acquire your wealth?"

Lucy gave off a small laugh then spoke, "You know this, my father owned a fishery empire on the surface and passed down his inheritance to my husband. We decided to move to Rapture where demand for fish was high and the competition lackluster. Our enterprise grew and we lived a happy life, as happy as any fairy tale you can come up with. Then Fontaine came over and . . . well . . . it's something I rather not get into right now."

"Yes I heard this version many times already," William said "Don't get the wrong idea, I have nothing but sympathy for your husband, may he rest in peace. But for you, well, let's just say I'm not very sympathetic to those who fabricate their past."

"What?" She said flabbergast, seemingly frightened by what William would say next.

"As a business man, I keep tabs on all my competition, including you; business dealings, stock changes, how much you inflate your services; all of us did this. In terms of your fishery, that really was only your father's cover. What really helped increase his flow of money were the services he provided to people who needed illegal actions to be taken care of for top bill. To be blunt, your father was a mob boss, which is the worst kind of hoodlum. The only reason you were even admitted here was in fact your husband, who wanted to right the wrongs of your father and turn an illegitimate business into a legitimate one. But it's alright we don't judge, all of us had rusty beginnings whether it came to poverty or preying on other peoples fears. Hell I owned a barely legal pawn shop at the surface, yet here I am now eating a steak dinner with some of the wealthiest denizens in Rapture. Circumstances have changed for the better for most of us. So rather than judging the insignificant imperfections of those who actually worked their way to the top and comparing us to the man who killed your husband, who by the way has some striking similarities to your father, you celebrate our positive attributes and focus on the present. You're a wonderful lady who is making an active effort to live up to the legacy of your husband, but this argument you propelled is completely misguided and to a certain degree hypocritical. I say we end it now and move on to something a bit more joyous, wouldn't you agree?"

The room was silent again. I looked at Lucy, she was devastated, tears were rolling down her eyes. It looked like she was about to say something, but nothing would come through. She left her chair and ran out of the room crying. The silence continued it was eerie and dark; everyone was stunned by Will's response. But Will did not seem to feel anything, he was impassive.

"I apologize if I was a bit too harsh on the girl. She needed to be told by someone, she was growing delusional of the past. But enough of that, we shouldn't end this on a bitter note. Let's bring out the dessert." Will said

Everyone went back to their previous mood and seemingly forgot the events that just transpired. But I did not; it was not because I felt sympathy for Lucy, she attacked all of us for being born to a lower class when she herself acquired her riches through the suffering of others, something Ryan himself bears irredeemable. Will looked at me and was curious why I did not move on. "John, are you alright? Was it really all that traumatizing?"

"No, no of course not, you did the right thing, she need to hear that," I said

"Then what is it?" Will asked

"It's just that . . . it always comes back to Frank Fontaine doesn't it . . . it always comes back to him."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9

It began with a single glance; my eyes meeting hers, forever sealing my fate. I could not get those eyes out of my head, I saw her everywhere I went. She was always in my mind but never physically here; it was driving me to insanity. Was she just a ghost? Did I only imagine her in some outlandish dream? No, that's impossible; I saw her, Sander saw her, all his disciples saw her. We would all see her again today, for today was where I began my rehearsals with her; Elizabeth.

It was two hours before the rehearsal, yet I went to Fleet Hall and waited for it to begin. My anticipation was palpable and I could not bear the thought of staying in the apartment when there was even the slightest chance that she would arrive early. I brought a few items for recreational purposes as I waited in the empty auditorium; a fictional book I brought from the surface by the name of "Story of the Eye" and a pack of cigarettes. Whether or not these items would entertain me for the next two hours was really a matter of opinion. I lit my cigarette, puff out clouds of smoke, and read my book.

An hour passed, I was a quarter of the way finished with what is a relatively dreary book that had far too many surreal elements to be enjoyable and have already went through half of my cigarettes. My attention did not even go towards the book; it all went to Elizabeth. Minutes felt like hours, hours felt like days, it was excruciating. In situations like these I would just contemplate the idiosyncrasies of life, but even that was not an option for me.

Another thirty minutes passed, still no sign of her. At that point I gave up and lost all hope of sharing sometime alone. Sander and his goons would be here soon, when that times came, the only intimate moments we would be sharing is through instrument and voice. This was it; I had one more cigarette left, of the twelve, I only had one left. It was not that I was a heavy smoker; I just smoked excessively when I got anxious and was in a deserted environment. I take out my lighter and pointed my cigarette to the flame.

"That's enough."

I turn my head around and gasped. It was her; stunning, magnificent her. I was hardly able to breath and almost started panting. But I kept my cool, I had to, otherwise I would certainly look the fool.

"Elizabeth! I didn't hear you come in, what are you doing here so early?" I asked

"I can ask you the same thing, do you wish to avail yourself." She asked, her sinister temperament had not changed, although beautiful, she still put the fear of god into me. But what does she mean by 'avail myself'? There was absolutely no way she knew what I was doing here. She most likely was just making an assumption, nothing more.

"I enjoy coming down here, there is this ominous feel when you are in an auditorium all by yourself. You can hear nothing but the murmur of nearby whales." I said, hoping that was an adequate answer.

"That's very poetic, Mr. Buchanan." She said "But like most poets, you're shrouding yourself in lies."

"How did you come to that conclusion?" I asked, keeping my calm.

"You're just a terrible liar," she said, pulling out a cigarette of her own, "Yet somehow, you continue to pose as this façade."

"I don't follow."

"Something tells me you will."

I came here on a mission to uncover her secrets, to discover what made her so blue. Yet after a minute of conversing with her, she made me question myself. I had lost my clarity of thought because of her wit. I wanted to ask more but I soon heard footsteps from a distance. I turn my head to the direction of the noise and out comes Sander and the rest of his disciples.

"Ohhhh Buchanan you sly sloth, you have the aptitude to think and assess, but you're ability to react is, well, lacking." Sander said with a vicious smile, "I clearly remember telling the both of you to meet me in The Artist's Struggle. Yet you two strayed from the pack and defied the head wolf. Yet, it is of no consequence, what's done cannot be undone, that is the burden of linear time. Now up you two go, there is much work to be done."

We both went on stage, I sat myself onto the piano bench and she went to the front where the microphone was. Sander and the rest of his minions sat themselves down. "I assume the two of you have looked over my composition, while performing it you must portray a certain degree of suffering and anguish. Perform like it is your final day in this wretched world, and you will be considered champions of the arts. But make no mistake, if I see even the slightest bit of petulance, this will be the last time you enter my domain."

If it was my last day on Earth, I would not spend it with Sander, that conniving snake. But I did as he asked, luckily for me it was Elizabeth who had to take the grunt of the work, all I had to do was play the composition without making a mistake. As expected, Elizabeth was flawless; she played her song with such elegance and grace that any man in that audience would have their heart stirred. Sander looked pleased and the disciples looked spiteful, I am assuming they wanted the spotlight but had neither the skills nor the charisma to meet their master's expectations. Sander did not correct us one time and just gazed, the song soon ended and he gave out a roaring applause. Soon after that he gave us another composition, and another, and another. This went on for another hour until Sander simply ran out of paper to give us. I was exhausted, my hands were aching and I felt a bit nauseous. Elizabeth on the other hand was showing no sign of exhaustion, she remained firm and still.

"BRAVO, BRAVO! That was exquisite" Sander said in gleeful joy "continue playing like this and I'll have no use for the rest of my senseless pupils. We will continue this tomorrow, I have precisely five more of these that you must play, and then we will be prepared for our upcoming concert. Little songbird and butterfly, you may leave now."

Thank God, I did not think I would have been able to perform another one of his compositions. Though I must admit they were all masterpieces, the equivalent of something Mozart or Bach would compose. Elizabeth quickly left the stage and I followed.

"Wait!" I said to Elizabeth, "I thought that we co-"

"Follow me," she said

"Okay," I said not questioning her request. This was what I longed for, and my wish had been granted, I got to speak to her. We exited Fleet Hall and walked around Frolic for a bit, passing by the art galleries and the casinos. We did not speak once while walking through the densely crowded hallways, I did not know when was the right time to ask the many questions I had. She entered a smoking room and sat down on one of the coaches. Unlike other smoking rooms this one barely had any people in it. It was less lavish than the other rooms but still had enough decorations and art deco architecture to fit with Rapture standards. I took a seat right in front of her and we looked at one another for an extended period of time. I could not open my mouth; I was lost and simply bedazzled by her presence. What can you expect when a man sits next to a goddess? I stayed silent, the room itself was completely void of sound; I could only hear the ticking of a nearby clock and echoes of the large crowd. I can feel my face getting red, this was not going well for me, not one bit. She must be testing me. That's it! She's testing what I would do if we met alone. I had to react quickly or she will simply just walk away. I soon cooled myself down and took out my last cigarette, I was about to light it until she spoke.

"Put that away," she said calmly "I'm not here to have a chat and exchange laughs with you."

I was a bit shocked by how blunt her answer was; I put the cigarette away and asked "So what are we here for then?"

"Heh, you really have no idea do you," she said "Tell me Mr. Buchanan, you're familiar with what a façade is, correct?"

"The face of a building?" I said, not sure what she is implying

"An outward appearance maintained to hide something, something menacing, something bred to bring a far less pleasant being than the one shown on the surface. You are so persistent in believing this is who you are that you avoid anything that might give you the truth of who you really are."

"And what is that?" I asked

"A walking time bomb."

What the hell was she talking about, again with this façade business? "Look lady, I don't know what yo-"

"Where is the bottle in the winery?" she asked "Sound familiar?"

"… What did you say?" I asked, I lost all previous state of thought, no longer could I hear the ticking of the clock, the noises of the hall; no longer could I smell the smoke that traveled throughout the room; all I could do is see what was in front of me, the furtive songbird. She lit a cigarette and started smoking, blowing clouds of smoke right into my face.

"Who are you?"

"That's not what you should be asking right now," she said "The real question is . . . who are you?"

"I don't want to play this ridiculous game anymore, tell your pal in Neptune's that I'm through with this, stay away from me."

"Stay away from you?" she said, giving off a chuckle "I have no quarrel in any of this, you're the one following me, or did you forget that? When the timer goes off, I don't want to be the idiot standing next to you. So do me a favor . . .stay away from me."

"Bulllshit!" I screamed "If there was any truth to that then how do you know that phrase? Hm, HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT PHRASE?"

She stood up and looked at me, blowing another puff of smoke into my face and said, "Can't expect a girl to share all her secrets."

She turned around and walked away. I wanted to pursue her, oh how much I wanted to pursue her, grab her and force out all those secrets she was holding. But I did not; I just watched her fade away into the crowd.

I stayed in the room, lost in a whirlpool of thought, contemplating the events that just transpired here, the events that instigated ever since I arrived here. The man, the girl, the dreams and the phrase; my four hauntings in this city, all so different yet somehow the same, woven together like a web, a web solely designed to forever trap it's pray, until its creator comes and gobbles you up. It's a never ending cycle of deceit and blood. . . What the hell was I saying?

Blood? Deceit? Where did this all come from? What was crawling inside my head that was leading me to this conclusion? It's a game, that's all it is, a damn game. There was nothing to it, I know who I am, and that was all that matters. I must forget all this, the dreams, Neptune's Bounty, Elizabeth, and that phrase. All will be well and I would put this all behind me. I needed a distraction; something I knew would bring me an insurmountable amount of joy.

I left the smoking room and went through the crowded hallway of Frolic. Instead of having a somber mentality, I decided to stay optimistic with all my admirers. I signed autographs, had extended conversations, looked at the posters of me with pride! It was at this point where I decided to make a major life decision. I went to a nearby bank and asked to make a withdrawal, I did not know how much money I garnered from the performance but I was sure it was a handsome sum. But before I did make a withdrawal, I asked the banker. "How much for an apartment in Olympus Heights?"

"That depends on what floor you want the apartment on." He said to me

"Let's say the thirtieth floor."

"Probably around a hundred thousand," he said, giving me a grin. Even if my concert was a massive success, there wass no way it garnered that much, at most I must have had twenty five thousand, though that should be enough to get me a decent new home. So I asked him how much I had in my account, he checked and his eyes widened. He looked at me then looked down.

"Sir . . . two hundred thousand dollars," he said surprised

Two hundred thousand dollars, how did I amass such a fortune? I asked him where it all came from and he told me 'Compliments from Sander Cohen'. Of course it was Sander, the man makes so much already that two hundred thousand is just a small fee to him. I asked him to take out all of it. The banker did not look pleased by my decision, obviously a client withdrawing all his money is a loss of revenue, but nevertheless he did so and gave me a duffle bag to carry it all. I then left the bank, went to the bathysphere station, and headed towards Olympus Heights. After I arrived and exited the docks, I entered a narrow hallway, in the end of the hallway was a large man dressed in a black suit. He greeted everyone who passed by, when it was my turn to get the greeting he stopped me.

"Can't you read the sign? Residents only, so scram." He said rather rudely, he probably assumed I was part of the lower class of Rapture, and thirty minutes ago he would have assumed right. But now I was far from the lanes of poverty.

"Actually I'm here as a buyer," I said "Who do I see for that bit of business?"

"Didn't you hear me? I said scram! You're holding up the line," he said rudely once again. He assumed that I was conning him, assuming the worst of human beings, which is perfect for this job, but in this instance he made a mistake. I opened my bag and showed him what was inside it. His eyes glowed in disbelief and embarrassment.

"Sir, I apologize for my misconduct," he said red faced and flabbergast "If you would follow me."

And so I did, it was remarkable how money could change one's perception of you; without it you're treated like filth, thieves of the night in an area occupied by the affluent. But show them a duffle bag full of gold or anything else that holds value, they take you in and treat you like family. One may say a wealth gap of this propensity is a crime and we should be an egalitarian society. I say that was nonsense; I lived in the depths of poverty for years, because I utilized my talents I was able to pick myself up and be placed into the wealthiest portion of society. It has nothing to do with unfairness or what was morally just; I chose to make something of myself while many others decided to remain as dormant beggars. I chose to live a life where I was able to maximize my utility through the sweat of my brow. Andrew Ryan's Rapture provided that and I was eternally grateful.

I went past the door at the end of the hallway and entered a stunning lobby. It was the type of lobby you would see in five star hotels in New York; immaculate, minimalistic, eloquent, and spacious. There were large seating areas in every corner, a small garden café, a fountain surrounded by exotic plants, and waiters serving glasses of champagne to any resident in the lobby. I followed him to what looked like a check in; the workers were comprised of beautiful white females, which gave me a good understanding of what the qualifications for this job are. My 'well-mannered' guard told me to wait while he talked to the girls working at the front desk. I could not here what they were discussing but judging by their facial expressions, he was telling them about what was inside my bag. One of them left the front desk and opened a door leading to another room behind them. Was it really so surprising that a man of my positions was able to acquire this degree of wealth? She came out and was then walking towards me.

"If you would follow me," she said, which I did. She led me to the same room she entered momentarily ago. She opened the door for me and I entered, she then closed it shut. What I saw in front of me was a dimly lit room and in the center of it was an older woman sitting in her office desk. She had odd looking reading glasses and was writing a report of sort with incredible speed.

"Please, sit," she said in a humble matter, and so I did "Welcome to my establishment, my name is Barbara Morgan, I am the owner of Olympus Heights Apartments, I understand you want to make a purchase here."

"Yes I do," I said, then explaining to her the specifications of my order.

"I see, that can be arranged, but I must ask you a few questions before we carry on. These are questions of curiosity and have nothing to do with our transaction." Said Barbara, taking off her odd glasses.

"Of course, go ahead," I said insistently, I anxiously wanted to move in to a new apartment. I wanted it all; I wanted the true Rapture life, a life where hard work is rewarded with comfort, eloquence and all things beautiful.

"Do understand that to truly be a part of this elite class, more is required from you than the acquisition of wealth. New money is looked down upon by many of our residents in recent days." She said

"Of course, I am aware of the mannerisms and little idiosyncrasies I have to adopt to truly be a part of this class. I've been here on several occasions attending dinner parties hosted by your residents." I said with confidence.

"I see, and what is your opinion on the Ryan ideology?" she said

"Ryan's way is our only true path to salvation. Any hint of altruism is essentially misconduct." I said

"Well said, my worries have been put to rest, you'll do fine here." Barbara said smiling at me "I need you to fill in this paperwork, while you do that I would like to take a look at that duffle bag."

And so I did, I gave her the bag, she counted the money, I filled out that paper work, and the transaction ended. She called in one of her assistants to escort me to my new home. I exited the room and walked through the lavish lobby of Olympus Heights. I already grew very fond of it; the smell of the plants, the minimalistic art design, even watching an elegantly dressed man reading a newspaper gave me a sense of joy. No more was my longing for wealth and place a dream, it was now a reality. I was now an equal of the elite class. We soon entered the elevator; again the announcements were on.

 _Wanting an item from the surface is forgivable. Buying or smuggling one into Rapture is not. Stay on the level, and out of trouble._

"Excuse me," I said to Barbara's assistant "But in elevators, wouldn't it be more appropriate to just have . . . elevator music?"

"It really isn't that bad," she said "It's either this or our anthem, and when you hear that every day, you start missing things like the Pledge of Allegiance."

We reached the thirtieth floor and our journey in the elevator ended. I followed her across the zigzag hallways until she stopped next to a room; room 302.

"Welcome sir, to your new home," said the assistant, opening the door for me.

I stepped through and was stunned, this was better than Williams's apartment. Sure his was more spacious, has elaborate furniture and an outstanding kitchen, but the view of Rapture was simply surreal. The wall in front of me when I enterrd the room was completely composed of glass; no medal rods to hold it, no curvatures that might distort the view, it was pure glass, overlooking the city of wonders in a way I had not seen since Kashmir. My room featured a variety of handy devices such as a record player with a collection of records stored next to it, a microwave, air conditioner, you name it. I thanked the assistant and she left, I was alone, alone to explore this new home of mine. I went right up to the glass wall to get a good look of the city, there were buildings with neon spotlights everywhere, it was truly beautiful to behold, but what really caught my eye was not the city, not even the wild life surrounding it, but the ocean itself. It was so blue, so dark, reflecting rays of blue light into my room. It all felt so atmospheric, yet I could not help but feel melancholy. It was endless darkness, the ocean, forever preventing the sun from presenting its true beauty. I would never be able to hear the singing of birds, to feel gusts of winds flow through my skin; there was only the forbidden waters. The natural world was something I would truly miss, but never would I go back, for the manmade world of the surface, it is something too atrocious to come back too. I felt a growing sense of despair from looking outside, I decided to close the curtains and turn on the lights. I was exhausted, lack of sleep and a disproportionate amount of stress can have its toll on a man, I needed rest. I entered my bedroom; it contained a queen sized bed that was already made, a desk on each side and a reading lamp. But there was something else, something very peculiar, a glowing liquid of sorts on one of the desks. I went closer and realized I was right, it was glowing liquid in an elaborate glass bottle with metal holdings. The liquid was crisp red, shining its light throughout the room. Next to it was an empty injectable. What was this? A decorative lamp of sorts? Why the injectable? There was a note next to it, I picked it up; it read 'Compliments from Ryan Industries: Plasmids, Evolution in a Bottle'.

Of course! This was a plasmid, that magical liquid derived from slugs that essentially give you super powers. I never put much thought into these things because I was so afraid of them and what they might do to me. But now with it in the palm of my hand, I could not suppress my excitement. Would I be able to sculpt ice with my hands or start a fire in the fireplace with the flick of a finger? There was another paper besides it, an instruction manual that explained how it worked and what the side effects were. What this does is rewrite my entire genetic code, during the process; I would feel excruciating pain all over my body. This immediately frightened me, my entire genetic code rewritten? I was not a man of science but this seemed like it had major repercussions if I used it. For now I decided to hold off from injecting it into my blood stream. When the time was right I would use it, until then, life simply goes on. I looked at my bed and gave out a sigh of happiness; it looked incredible compared to my broken spring mattress in my old apartment here. I lay down and immediately sank into the mattress; I put my head into the soft pillow, closed my eyes and entered my first stage of sleep. All I could hear now were my slow breaths; soon I could not even hear that, everything became still and silent.

" _William," said a voice_

 _I opened my eyes, but it was no use, everything was shrouded in complete darkness, I heard echoes from a distance, echoes of a song, a crowd, of water. An image began to form; I could see white light emerging to such an extreme degree, it nearly blinded me. I was not able to see anything but that light. Then it faded, I looked down and saw I was standing on sand. I looked up, I was in a beach, but not just a beach, a beach in the sky, a floating beach, accompanied by floating buildings, a floating city in the skies, surrounded by white clouds and a sun that was larger than the one I knew in the surface. I heard music, vibrant instrumental music; I walk towards the sound, passing by a large amount of gleeful people swimming in this artificial beach or laying down on the soft sand. I entered a corridor that led me to that vibrant music amd soon came to another part of the beach, a gust of wind made an umbrella fly and a bundle of happy children followed it. There were so many people, so many joyful people in what was possibly the liveliest world I had ever seen. The sun glistened its light towards the populace; pelicans flew in the open environment, and that music, that music lifted my spirits and filled my heart with joy. I soon came to the source of the music, a small pier where a small group of exuberant people were dancing. I went up to the pier and slowly went closer to the group. They all disbanded from what they were doing formed a circle and started clapping to the music, in the center of the circle was a girl who was dancing, a small petite girl. It was Elizabeth, a younger version of her, I did not recognize her, she did not have those sinister eyes I knew all too well. Instead her eyes were glowing with life and passion. She was smiling, dancing, and looked bewildered by all this around her, but for the first time she was happy. She was wearing a school girl's outfit and had a ribbon to knot her hair. There was nothing sensual about her in anyway, she was now this innocent benign being that I wanted to look after and protect, I wanted to be a paternal figure. The sun released rays of light to where she was standing, Elizabeth was shining and she looked almost heavenly. All I longed for was to watch her for an eternity, to watch her in this state of happiness and exuberance. But, I suddenly felt a nudge from my back._

" _Hey watch it, will you!" I said, angered by the fact that my sense of peace broke. But then I looked at this figure who pushed me, he was a tall brooding man in striped pants and had brown hair. He blocked the sun with his height; I could no longer see the rays of light that were hitting Elizabeth. He walked towards her, slowly and menacingly. I did not like the looks of him, he was after her, I knew it. I decided to walk towards him and stop him before he reaches her, but every step I took he went further and further away. I could see nothing but his back, growing ever so distant. I start panicking and begin to run after him, but it was no use, he was getting further from me yet closer to her. I screamed this time._

" _HEY, LEAVE HER BE! YOU HAVE NO QUARRAL WITH HER, GET AWAY!" I said but it was no use, he could not hear me, nor could anyone else here. He reached out to grab her shoulder. And I scram again. "GET AWAY FROM HER."_

 _But it was too late; I could not undo any of this. The sun starts flickering and all the moving pieces of my dream freeze. One second the sun radiates its light, and another complete darkness. My frozen frame begins to crack all around me, soon it crumbles and darkness insinuates my sight._

" _You have cracked the cypher; the Bottle in the Winery is now yours."_

" _What?" I said in disbelief "What the hell is the Bottle in the Winery? HEY WHAT IS IT"_

 _There was no response, no noise, not even an echo from a distance. I was alone in darkness. There was no point in asking anymore.. Is this what the afterlife is like? Eternal and oblique darkness? Or is this simply my fate? It did not matter anymore; I remained silent and gradually turned into nothing._

" _You're a walking time bomb."_

I woke up, this time I did not scream, but was nevertheless in distress and covered in sweat. It's not ever going to end; exploited, exploited, exploited. No matter what I did, no matter how miserable or happy I was; the man, the girl, the dream and the phrase would always come back to haunt me. But that dream, what was I in? What happened to Elizabeth? How did she go from that innocent girl to . . . whatever she is now? I was about to get up from my bed until I felt something strange. I was holding something under the covers; something composed of glass and was relatively heavy. I pulled this object out of the sheets and saw the bottle of Plasmid that came with my room. How the hell did you get there? I put it back from where it came and went back to sleep. Then it hit me, like an unruly thunderstorm. My eyes widened in disbelief and complete terror. I slowly turned around and looked at the bottle of plasmid. I held it and analyzed it to the fullest of my ability and reached this conclusion, 'The Bottle in the Winery is now yours.'

"This is it, the Bottle in the Winery."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 10

I put on my night robes and left my new apartment. Sleep was something I simply was not capable of at that instance; this revelation I had just unveiled was too big to sleep on. I needed someone to talk to, someone I could share this with who might shed some light on this mystery. It was three o' clock in the morning; no one was walking the halls of the apartment, not a sound to be heard besides occasional creeks from the building and the moans of whales. I tried to piece this all together. How was Elizabeth involved in all this? Why was I in a floating city? Who was that man walking towards her? None of it made any sense; I was not able to make any sort of link, it troubled me. I was stressed, anxious, apprehensive and worst of all curious, for the first time since I had these dreams, I was trying to uncover its mysteries. This was a recipe for disaster; I would become another Sylvia Plath and be sent to a mental asylum if I followed this path. But I could no longer ignore it, these spells and visions I was having were following me everywhere and were getting worse, doing nothing was not working. I reached my destination and knocked on the door. No one answered, so I knocked again, and again, until the door slammed open and out came a grouchy William.

"John? What in bloody hell are you doing here? You have any idea what time it is?" said Will who was rightfully irritated.

"I'm sorry this couldn't wait," I said, walking into his home, not asking whether I could come in or not "I didn't know who else to talk to."

"You have ten minutes," William said insistently "Ten minutes, then you leave me in peace."

"Ever since I came here I've been having these dreams." I said trying hard to make sense out of all this. "At first I thought it was nothing but I soon noticed they were all . . . connected. All my dreams end with this phrase 'Bottle in the Winery'. Do you have any idea what that might mean?"

"Not a clue," he said irritated and was clearly tired, "listen if you're having trouble sleeping I can recommend a psychologist, just let me know."

"No it means something!" I said insistently "I just had another one of those dreams today, only the man saying that phrase told me this time I had the 'Bottle in the Winery' and as it so happens I wake up with a bottle of plasmid in my hand while I was sleeping. That can't be a coincidence."

"That is an interesting case, though what is this all leading too?" Will said, not showing a sign of interest, though it did not bother me.

"I don't know, I've been trying to tie all the dots, but they don't add up, any of them." I said a bit troubled

"Hmmmm, this is all very fascinating, but your ten minutes is up and I need sleep" Will said opening the door for me, knowing full well five minutes had not passed. "Cheers then."

"Wait please," I said "There's just one more thing I need to ask you, and then I'll be on my way."

"Oh jeez," Will said , clearly frustrated, "Get on with it then."

"You work in the plasmid business so I reckon you know this. If the plasmid is the bottle, then what's the winery?"

I did not get a response; I looked at Will and realized his facial expression changed from that of frustration to fear. He was hiding something, I knew it, no matter how good of a friend he was, I always remembered that he was a businessman first; they always hold secrets to protect their self-interests. I decided to speak, "Well?"

"Careful Buchanan, that is a road you do not want to cross," he said worryingly

"I need to, for my own sanity, I'll be on my way" I said, knowing full well that's all I was getting from him. I got up from my chair and walking towards the exit. Suddenly Will closed the door. I was shocked by this, what did I say that drew him to this?

"John, you need to tell me what's going on with you, right now!" William demanded, though I had no idea what he was getting at. I told him everything I knew, minus a few rough details.

"Will, open the door."

"You've been wandering about in Rapture aimlessly at night, bumping into nightshift workers and making a scene. What's this all about? What game are you playing?"

"I've been doing no such thi-"

"I got five bruised up witnesses who testify otherwise. John what in God's name are you doing?" said William who was showing great concern. I was not sure if this was all a rouse. Was he stalling? Waiting for one of Rapture's security guard to come here and take me away?

"I have to go."

"I am begging you as a friend not to pursue this, nothing good will come out of it." He said insistently

"Pursue what?" I said a bit irritated "All I mentioned was a goddamn winery and your acting like the world's about to explode, if you have something to say spit it out or let me go."

"No! Buchanan you don't understand the lengths we had to go through to undo the mess that Fontaine started; the riots, the uproar of the people, it took months to close those wounds he enveloped. If you do this, Ryan will enter another stage of paranoia and you'll make my family go through another period of fear and hysteria. I can't let that happen, not again."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said irritated that he tried to keep me here "Either elaborate or get out of my way."

"Please sit down," he said pointing towards his chair; I was hesitant at first but listened and sat down. If he tried to stall me I would walk out of here in a seconds notice. "I told you that Ryan faced political scrutiny and near turmoil after Fontaine's death. People were furious and scared by Ryan's decision to apprehend Fontaine and many began to protest against him, asking the rest of the populace to kick Ryan out of his position and calling him 'The Virtue less Dictator'. Ryan developed paranoia from this and began to exert his rule on the city; he used his security forces to disband protests, arrest those trying to rekindle Fontaine's smuggling ring and sending them down to Fontaine's Department Store. It was truly horrid time, Ryan meant well, but all of us feared that his actions would tear the city apart, for the protests only grew more ferocious with each act of force he committed. Weeks later a miracle arose from the ashes, we found the labs Fontaine used to conduct his experiments, exploitive experiments on the poor. Once we showed this to the public, the protests stopped and the people rekindled their trust in him, calling him a hero for putting him down. His popularity grew to tremendous heights and from then on the city has prospered. Looking into this will just open old wounds and Ryan might go back to that state of paranoia, you will bring us back to an age where civil war nearly began."

"But what am I looking into?" I said confused annoyed "How does the . . . winery have anything to do with this?"

"I . . . I can't tell you," he said sadly "As much as I want to help, But I have a family, and I could lose everything if I tell you this, please try to understand what I am saying."

"I'm sorry, but I have to do this, I need answers to my questions or I'll go mad. I know these are not figments of my imagination, what I am seeing and hearing in those dreams are as real and as genuine as this city . . . Elizabeth proved that. You don't have to tell me anything, just take care of your family, I'll find another way."

"You don't understa-"

"No Will, I do, I really do" I said trying to relieve him of his worries. "Trust me; nothing will happen to your family, I promise you, no matter what happens."

"Fine . . . fine," he said in defeat, opening the door for me, I was about to exit until he grabbed my shoulder, "Look if you do find what you're looking for, tread lightly, you might not like what you see."

"Okay, thanks for the warning," I said, though it did not weaken my resolve

I looked at Will and saw nothing but concern in his face; it drew sympathy out of me and made me feel sorry about my decision, I really did not know what would happen if I chose to follow this path. "Will, you've been a true pal, ever since I got here you've treated me like a brother and I'm grateful for that, I'm sorry about tonight, I'm sorry that I'm making you so damn concerned about everything. Let's have another one of your steak dinners soon alright? Only this time, my treat."

Will smiled back at me. "I'd like that."

"Take care." I said, Will shut the door and I was back in the desolate hallway. Strange but I felt like that would be the last time I would see him. Not because I did not want to visit, but simply because of all these arising circumstances, I felt that if I went along this trail, nothing would ever be the same. But I had to, otherwise I will live in question for the rest of my life, and that simply was not an option for me. But what will those answers bring? Could these answers prompt civil war? No it was impossible, I had been here for months and all I had seen was prosperity and joy amongst the masses. The odds of their being civil war here was as likely as a nuclear war erupting in the surface, it simply was not going to happen.

My head was clogged with thoughts of the past; I could see the long pathway leading to Fleet Hall, hear the crowded bathysphere station filled with endless families, and smell sumptuous steak being cooked by Will's wife. Oh Will, I wish things could have been different. I wish I was able to converse with you about politics and philosophy rather than finding answers to surreal dreams, I wish I could see visit your family on a weekly basis and share dinner with all of you rather than live a life of solitude and anxiety. There was so much I longed to do with my life here, so how did it come down to this?

I had to think of next steps, who else could I see that might have some answers? There was the man in Neptune's Bounty, but that was my last resort, I elicited far too much fear from my last experience to want to go back. I would have to set up an appointment with Andrew Ryan if I wanted to talk to him, and that might take weeks. I doubt Sander has any clue as to what's going on. Damn it I wish I expanded my social circle, now I'm stuck with questions with no one to answer them. I soon passed my apartment and headed to the elevator, staying in there would just make me even more paranoid than I already am. I went to the elevator and clicked the down button. I did not know where I was going, or where this trail would lead me, but I knew for a fact that nothing was in Olympus Heights so I went on. The elevator door opened, I was about to step in until I suddenly bumped into someone trying to come out.

"Pardon me," I said, taking a look at this stranger, but to my surprise, it was not a stranger, in fact it was one of the two people I had been trying to avoid as of late, Elizabeth. She gave me a look of warning and dread, exited the elevator and headed into the empty hallway. I wanted to step inside the elevator and let her pass by, I was not allured by her anymore, but I was curious, she was one of the few people who knew about these spells I was having, and to walk by her would be a fool's choice.

"Elizabeth!" I yelled to her, she ignored me and continued walking; I was not going to accept this and decided to pace towards her direction. I kept calling out her name yet she continued to ignore the calls. Strange, this was oddly reminiscent to the dream I had earlier, the more paces I strode, the farther she seemed. Elizabeth made a sharp left turn into another hallway; I decided to increase my pace and jogged towards that direction. When I reached where she turned, I felt a hand grab my shirt and was aggressively pulled to a wall. I was about to retaliate until I felt a sharp object touching my neck. Elizabeth was holding me and had a knife pointed directly at my neck. She was weaker than me, I could easily break out of this hold, but she would instantly cut my throat so I did not take the chance.

"Why are you following me?" she said demanding an answer. "I told you didn't I? Stay clear from me."

"Agh, I figured out what the 'Bottle in the Winery' is," I said talking to her while at the same time trying to avoid that blade. "I was hoping maybe you can help me out with some questions, if you don't mind, of course."

She gave me a look of annoyance and let me go. There was absolutely no way this was the same girl I saw in the dream. How can one go from innocent school girl to violent individual who carries a knife for wandering strangers? Humans are such distorted and aloof creatures. Never before have I had a life and death experience like this, maybe Will was right, if this was what I had to deal with from now on for uncovering the mystery then it was not worth it.

"I told you already my business is not with you, you're better off asking someone like Ryan about your thoughts, I'm sure he's got much to say on the topic." Elizabeth said

"Seems like you already have insight on that too. Just help me out and I promise you'll never see my face again." I said.

She gave off a sigh and then said "So be it."

She started walking to where she was originally going and I followed. We went through the empty hall and did not exchange a single word. Only this time it was because I did not want to, you ask her one thing and she will give an answer that will break the hearts of men; in a wicked manner. She soon stopped, took out a lock pick, and opened up one of the rooms effortlessly.

"Where did you learn that?" I asked a bit stunned

"Childhood hobbies," she said.

She entered the room and I followed. She turned on the lights and I entered a room of which the likes I have not ever seen before. There was no bed, no tables; rather there was a movie projector and loads of footage on the floor. There were endless ripped pages from different news articles hanging on the wall, red arrows were drawn and they all led to a single picture of an old man. He had a pronounced white beard and looked like he was in his mid-50s. He had this sort of tallness and grandness that you do not usually see at that age.

"Who's this?" I asked

"An old friend," she said "I'm here to pay him a visit."

"That's a lot of trouble you went through for an old friend. Why did you use a lock pick to open your own room?" I said looking at the endless articles. Elizabeth did not respond, she was looking for something in the pile of movie reels on the floor. She grabbed one of the reels, stood up and faced me.

"What is it exactly that you're looking for?" she said

"I already told you, insight to these dreams I've been having, what do they mean?"

"That's not specific enough, Mr. Buchanan, let's avoid the fundamentals and move to the key point. What is it that you're looking for?"

"The bottle is the plasmid, so what is the winery?" I asked

Elizabeth did not answer back; she walked to the movie projector and loaded the film. She then looked at me and said, "You're not going to like what you see, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," I said anxiously

She turned the projector on and a white screen appeared, then a video began to play, it showed an empty room, in the middle of it was a medical table of sorts. On it was a small girl, who was unconscious. Everything was so motionless and silent in that room, all I could hear was the girl in the video breathing. I then heard a door open off screen and in came two doctors of sort. One was a white female with curly brown hair and the other an Asian man with large circular glasses. The man looked at the camera and began to speak.

" _Clinical Trial Lot 5 Dr. Suchong/Client Fontaine Futuristics, subject ready for implantation of filthy slug. Little girl well sedated, only viable host for procedure. Once complete, symbiosis between two subjects begin. ADAM yield increase 30 fold once finished. Fontaine very pleased with results. Ms. Tenenbaum, proceed with surgery."_

He went away from the camera and went up to the table. Both doctors put on their surgical masks and took out their instruments. The female took out a small knife and removed the young girl's shirt. She then placed the knife at the center of the girl's stomach and to my horror started to cut it open.I looked at Elizabeth in disbelief and noticed she herself was looking away. My attention went back to the screen; the doctor finished her atrocious act. The male doctor then used another instrument to open the wound. The door opened again and came out a man that was holding a water tank and inside it was one of the vilest creatures I have ever seen in this earth. It was a small grotesque creature that carried a glowing white liquid on its back, this must have been the slugs that Ryan was talking about, the ones that produce ADAM and in turn plasmids.

 _Now we implant slug into little girl's lower stomach._

The newest doctor put down the tank and took a grabber. He used it to take the slug out of the water tank. The slug, like the girl seemed unconscious, for it was not struggling in any way. He held the slug right on top of the girl. Suchong opened the wound further, and then came the unspeakable. They slowly put the slug into the girl's stomach, a large grotesque slug into an innocent girl's stomach. It was unbearable to watch, I could feel my insides twisting at the sight of this. The film then stopped and there was nothing but white light. Elizabeth turned off the projector and lit a cigarette.

"What the hell was that?" I said dazed and panicked. "You tell me what the hell did I just see!?"

"The product of men with dreams of grandeur." Elizabeth said "The type that lacks the capital of men such as Ryan and Sander but would tear a hole into the world to acquire it."

"Who did this?" I said.

"Does it matter? What's done is done and cannot be undone. You should acquaint yourself with that phrase, it might prove helpful."

"No more riddles!" I said forcefully "Be straight with me and give me what I want to know!"

"These little girls are the winery." She said blowing a puff of smoke and facing the large window wall of the apartment. "'ADAM Factories' some call them. The slugs didn't produce enough of it to meet the demands of the consumers and Fontaine was losing money. A geneticist under his employment, Brigid Tenenbaum figured out a new method to produce thirty times the ADAM a slug can produce, a symbiotic relationship between host and slug. The only viable host for these procedures was children, little girls who have not gone through an ounce of life, and now function as slaves to the so called free market."

"So these were the experiments that Fontaine conducted. But Ryan put a stop to them, how are there still so many plasmids on sale?"

"You really think Ryan is going to bury a gold mine? He maybe a man with vision but at the core he's just another businessman, the type that sacrifices moral principles for feelings of majesty."

"No, that's not true, you don't know Ryan," I said apprehensive of her response. "I met him; he's a man of the people, a hero to the city. He made this place to escape the clutches of the surface; he wouldn't do something like this."

At this point she began to laugh again; it was a low laugh that filled me with dread. What did I say that was so amusing? Do I have it all wrong?

"See, its men like you that make the world such a vile place. The answer is right in front of you yet you refuse to look, you just blindly follow those who you presume to be divine.."

"You think I played a part in this?" I said in disbelief.

"Of course; you played a part in this, Sander played a part, Firth played a part, everyone in this appalling city played their part. You all just turn your head the other way and play the innocent bystander. So content with your lifestyles, none of you would dare try anything that might alter it."

"No, no , no!" I said enraged "I've been here for months and I have seen nothing but . . . happiness amongst the populace, there is no sign of discontent from anyone other than you, just you. Why is that? Are you one of the parasites Ryan keeps talking about? Do you want to bring the whole system down?"

"Do you hear yourself?" she said giving out another laugh "You see this place like it's been touched by God himself. All I see is another group of fanatics with a different set of books."

I was silent and stunned. If this was true, the world I knew, a world of endless opportunity and surreal lavish environments, had turned into one bursting with schemes, lies and atrocious acts against humanity. My hero Andrew Ryan, a man of justice and grand visions for humanity, had turned into a hoodlum, one that exploits little children to increase his level of income. The world as I knew was collapsing and I grew furious by this, because Elizabeth was right, by turning away from the truth I played a role in this atrocity. I wanted to make Ryan pay, first he grafted humans into mechanical beasts and then he implanted slugs into little girl's stomach, girls who cannot make their own decisions.

"How . . . how do you know all of this?" I said confused on how she attained what seemed to be highly classified material

"My sources are my own Mr. Buchanan; I suggest you follow yours rather than simply running from them."

"What other sources?" I said more flabbergast than I had ever been "What are you not telling me?"

"You've been running for months, running from the one thing that might shed light on your misfortunes."

It then hit me; I knew exactly what she was talking about, how could I be so blind? But it filled my heart with dread; it was the last place on Earth I wanted to visit. The man, the girl, the dream and the phrase; she wanted me to see the man, the man in Neptune's Bounty. It was the birthplace of my paranoia, the beginning of when I could no longer separate what was real from what was in my mind.

"You want me to visit the man, but why? You've already answered all my questions; I don't see a reason to go back." I said insistently

"You're time's expired, don't come back here." She said standing up and showing me the way to the door. I was confused by the suddenness of that. But I suppose the answers to my questions have been . . . answered, therefore I can leave. The question is what do I do now? I was filled with loathing and hatred towards this place now. What they did to that little girl was unforgivable. But what could I do? Protesting against them would do nothing, in fact, I might get the black bag, if Ryan does such a thing. I can save up money to get a personal bathysphere and use that, to escape, but they only have an hour worth of air supply, and that was nowhere near sufficient enough. The only reasonable thing to do was to move on with my life. I was about to leave until I felt Elizabeth grab my shoulder, I looked behind me startled by this action. She then said "Right now I look at you and see an imposter, a coward who after everything I've shown and said, is still running, this version of you, this façade . . . he's hopeless, a true resident of Rapture. Please do me a favor and go to Neptune's; the man will reveal another version of you, one that will set things right here. When you do this, come find me, I'll be in Fontaine's Department Store. Maybe . . . together . . . we'll be able to dent the system, once and for all."

"Who are you?"

"Do this and I might tell you." She said in a sympathetic tone. She then did the one thing I never expected, she smiled. It was similar to the one I saw in the beach. It was the first time I saw her smile here, the dark eyes I knew all too well started to glow with light, it was heartwarming. This was the first time I saw something different in her; whatever I saw in that dream, there still was a part of her that remains . . . a girl. Sander was wrong about her, whatever occurred in her past has not defined her. "You might not find me to be as bad as you think."

She shut the door and I was once again in the hallway alone, stunned, dumbfounded, speechless. Revelation after revelation entered my mind and had become a part of my existence. No more running, I must confront my fears and take hold of them, I do not claim to understand what Elizabeth meant when she said this version of me was a façade, but I knew the life I was living, the apartments, the booze, the pleasantries, those were all part of the lie I was living. I was the artificial bystander that stood by when so many suffered while I profited off the blood of children. Children who will never experience things like childhood, love, marriage, family. Innocence is something no longer relished by society, we would throw it away in a heartbeat in the name of science and industry. I will go to Neptune's, find the man, then find Elizabeth, and attempt to break the cycle of violence and exploitation. I went to my apartment, entered my bedroom and stared heavily at the bottle containing the plasmid; 'The Bottle in the Winery'. How much I desired to take that bottle and slam it into a wall, to continue stepping on the shattered glass until there was nothing left. But I could not, for this was my admission ticket to see the man in Neptune's. I picked it up and put it in the duffle bag I was given by the banker to carry my money. Even that I wanted to burn, all these were the product of vicious men, men I once had the utmost respect for. But it might prove useful in the coming days, so I filled the duffle bag with that as well. I opened the exit door of my apartment and was about to walk out without looking back, but I could not help myself. I turned around and glanced at my home; the spectacular view, the ornamented living room, the door to my bedroom and my bathroom. How can such a place of beauty be created by such men? How can anyone of that nature recognize this sort of splendor? I walked back into the room, slowly heading towards the clear wall that showed off the city. My nose was a few inches off the wall, my eyes were not directed towards the city, but rather they were pondering the endless ocean. I could almost see ripples of water flowing south of the city, the infinite blue that covered the Earth. I wish I could just stare at the endless ocean for an eternity. I wish that in the end, everything was to be shaped the way I wanted it to be. But that was not possible, I'm only human. I had to press on, let go of that I held dear. I picked myself up, and left the apartment, never to come back. I opened the door, stopped one more time to take a final glance, and then left.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 11

There it was, Neptune's Bounty. I could see countless submarines unloading cargo box after box, all of it was done automatically, no manual labor required. My bathysphere began its slow decent to the docks, going into the long dark tunnel that would lead me to my damnation. There were no advertisement posters or lights in the tunnel; there was nothing but the shroud of darkness that enveloped my window. Fortunately there was a light in my bathysphere that helped me keep my nerve. I suppose when it comes to the slums of Rapture there was no point in putting advertisement boards of expensive merchandise they could not possibly afford. I wonder how many of these people suffered at the hands of those settled in Olympus Heights. How many had to give up their daughters all for another man's profit. The proletariat will always be exploited in some regard, whether it would be excessive manual labor without reasonable wage or their inability to voice their opinion and make a change in an elitist society. Though who am I to say such a thing? I turned a blind eye on these people, but that would soon change. The bathysphere reached the end of the tunnel and I reached the surface of the building. The hatch opened, I exited it and noticed something peculiar. The last time I came here this place was bustling with workers and machines, now the dock was dead silent.

I took a few slow steps forward and heard the creaking of ] old wood. It made a slow and eerie sound that filled me with dread. Most of the lights were off. The place was dim and there were sections that were not even visible.

"Hello," I called out, hoping to get a response. I heard nothing but the echo of my shout. Even if it was four in the morning, there should have been someone out here managing all this. As I walked, passing by one box of cargo after another, I heard something strange.

 _Tink_

 _Tink_

 _Tink_

I walked towards the sound, wondering why it seemed so familiar. I continued walking until I came to the source. It was a malfunctioning light bulb, blinking constantly. One second it would shed its light in the area, the next it would leave it to wallow away in darkness. My dream would always end with blinking lights. I stood right below the light bulb, staring at it, wondering why it was making such a disheartening sound, one that made me almost disoriented.

 _Tap_

 _Tap_

 _Tap_

I heard a new sound in the distance. I looked at the direction of where it came from, wondering what it was.

"Hello?"

I yelled hoping for a response . . . but none came. I could no longer hear the new sound; all I could hear and see was the flickering of the light bulb.

 _Tap_

 _Tap_

 _Tap_

There it was again, I tried to focus my gaze on the direction of the sound, but it was not possible. For the flickering light was disorienting my sense of vision. One second there was light, the next darkness.

 _Tap_

 _Tap_

 _Tap_

"Come out damnit," I said, at this point terrified, looking from one direction to the next, trying to find the source. I saw a figure in the distance, it was shrouded in darkness but I could see the outline. The light flickered again and I lost sight of it, then it came back on, only this time it was gone. I grew more and more disoriented by the combination of sounds. I wanted to leave but I was not able to move my feet, they felt stuck to the ground.

 _Tap_

 _Tink_

 _Tap_

 _Tink_

 _Tap_

 _Tink_

 _Tap_

 _Tink_

One second it was there, the next it disappeared and moved somewhere else. My head was turning and twisting in every direction trying to find it. It was getting closer and closer to me. In my desperation I did the one thing possible to do at the moment.

"I HAVE IT!" I said, taking out the bottle of plasmids from my bag. "THE BOTTLE IN THE WINERY."

 _BAM_

The light bulb broke, fragments of glass fell on top of my head, no injury. Though I was no longer able to see what was in front of me, it was dark and no longer visible. I could not even hear the sound that figure made.

"HELLO?"

 _SLAM_

I felt a hard metal object hit the back of my head and I fell to the floor. I was about to pick myself up, but a hand grabbed my shoulder and turned me over. I felt a needle go into my arm, I tried to resist, but everything began to blur and I could no longer feel my own body or control my muscles. I was losing consciousness and was about to trade one veil of darkness for another. What did I get myself into?


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The Point of No Return

 _I opened my eyes, yet there was nothing but an empty metal room and a single door at the end. It was cold, dark and ominously silent. I felt isolated, panicked and walked to the door in an attempt to leave this morbid place. But I noticed something on it, a metal nametag of sort, I went closer to get a better look. It had the name 'Will Sullivan' imprinted on it. I opened the door and a significant amount of light radiated out. My eyes slowly adjusted; I was able to hear the chirping of birds and gusts of wind hitting nearby trees, felt soft ground filled with grass touch my feet, I was back in the park. I looked behind me to see what sort of complex this was. Too my surprise there was nothing but a door that contained a label that read 'Home to John Buchanan'._

 _I did not have much time to ponder what it meant, for someone grabbed my hand suddenly, I looked to see who it was and too my surprise it was a small girl, no more than 6 years old._

" _Come on daddy, come! Mommy is waiting," she said running forward and tagging me along. Her hands were small; she wore a glowing white dress and had brown hair. We ran through the sunlit park, passing trees, birds, and other exuberant children playing in the park. It was all accompanied by soft melodic music that echoed throughout the entire park. It all gave me a sense of glee. The setting was far less dismal than that of Rapture, seeing a multitude of children laughing and playing with each other in such a beautiful place made me cherish the splendor of childhood. I followed her but looked back to the door with my name imprinted on it, trying to understand what it meant. I then looked forward, only to realize that she was gone, no longer holding my hand. The jazz stopped, I could no longer see a trace of life in the park. Dark clouds began to engulf the blue sky, covering the sun of all its former glory. The wind began to whistle as its speed increased. The color of the trees began to fade. There was no speck of light to be found, darkness enveloped the land. Suddenly I heard a laugh, a laugh from the little girl I was just holding. It was subtle but easy to hear._

" _Come on, this way" she said in the distance, colorless trees and darkness blocked my eyes from seeing that which was in front of me, strong gusts of wind slowed my approach._

" _Elena, dear, where are you?" I screamed out in the dark forest._

 _BOOM_

 _Thunder soon emanated from the clouds accompanied by heavy rainfall. I began to sprint across the muddy ground in search of her. I screamed out her name multiple times but she did not answer back, all I heard was her laughter from a distance. Soon though there was no laughter and I stopped running. I looked in all directions to find her, but she was nowhere to be found. My clothes and face were wet and muddied from the liquidated ground._

" _STAY AWAY! DON"T YOU TOUCH HER!" Said a voice ringing across the forest, it was the woman from one of my previous dreams in the park. She sounded like she was struggling. "GIVE ME BACK MY BABY! PLEASE, PLEEASSSEEE!"_

 _After that I could hear her crying excessively, and then I hear a door shut and . . . silence insinuated once more. I stood firmly where I was, the thunder increased in frequency, the rain drops began to feel like hail, my legs were completely engulfed in water._

" _Little girl well sedated, only viable host for procedure, once complete, symbiosis between two subjects begins." Said another voice that resonated all across the area, it was the doctor who performed the surgery on the girl, Dr. Suchong. "Now we implant slug into little girl's lower stomach."_

 _Silence proliferated as I heard another door close. I was once again alone in the cold darkness, wondering what to expect next in this nightmarish world._

" _AAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH"_

 _It was her, the girl, only she was not laughing, but this time screaming. She was in pain, something was happening. I ran to that direction as fast as I possibly could, water covered my legs and the wind only grew worse._

" _ELENA! WHERE ARE YOU?" I screamed as loud as I possibly could, the screaming grew worse and I continued running. The wind and rain blinded my eyes, the thunder deafened my ears. I lost all sense of direction and yet the screams only grew louder._

" _ELENA!" I shouted with all my heart. Suddenly the rain and wind lightened, I opened my eyes and standing a few feet in front of me was the girl, Elena. I gave a sigh of relief, I was no longer running aimlessly in the cruel weather. I walked towards her and was looking at her back; she was just standing there motionlessly._

" _Elena what happened," I said touching her shoulder, she began to turn around. "Are you all-_

" _I see angels Mr. Bubbles"_

 _I gasped and fell to the ground. The wind blew harder than ever, the rain increased in frequency once more. Elena, my dear Elena, what in God's name happened to you? She did not have pupils in her eyes; they were just a blank glowing green. She was as pale as a ghost, her veins were pronounced, there were streaks of purple all over her face. And her voice, it-it changed. I was crawling away from her, trying to get away. She then started walking towards me slowly, with a large metal syringe. Crows began to circle her, 5 crows, 10 crows, 20 crows, hovering all over her. Through the crow I could only see her empty glowing eyes staring at me, piercing my soul._

" _Get him Mr. Bubbles!"_

 _The crows then came at me in all their blackness. I covered myself and prepared for the worst. I opened my eyes and saw nothing, I was blinded, I saw nothing. Nothing at all._

"Agh" I screamed returning to my conscious state. Soon after a metal object hit the back of my head, giving me no time to contemplate what I just dreamed.

"Hey quiet damn it", said a man, I could not see him, my head was covered in some sort of bag. I was not able to see anything in front of me.

"Hey watch it, will ya'?" said another man. "Don't you know who you're smacking?"

"From where I'm looking at, he's just another guy who got black bagged, end of story."

I was in a wheelchair, my hands and legs were cuffed. We were moving somewhere, I was not sure where. But panic ensued, scared of what I got myself into, but worst of all I was blind, not able to see anything but occasional glimmers of light.

I imagined myself dying in a million different ways; car crash, house fire, suicide. But never did I think I would go down with a black bag on my head and me getting smacked around by two strange men. I always imagined it to be quick and painless, not confining and painful. The wheelchair stopped moving and one of the men opened a metal door, the wheelchair then began to move, I assumed I went through the door. The chair stopped once more.

 _Whoosh_

The black bag was taken off my head; a bright light was shining on my face. My eyes slowly adjusted after going through hours of darkness. There was one lamp in the room, standing on the side of a metal table. Everything else was shrouded in the dark, as black as a moonless night. The door opened once more, I was not able to look back because of my confinements. I heard footsteps move across the room yet I was not able to see anyone, this area had zero visibility. Soon I heard him take a seat on the other side of the table. He stretched out his hands where the light shined it's light, making them visible to me, but that was all I would get from him, every other aspect of that man I was not able to perceive through my eyes.

"What is your field of work?" says the obscure man on the other side of the table.

"What?" I said dazed and confused. "What is all this? Why are you doing this?"

"Answer the question and things will go by much smoother. What is your field of work?"

"I'm a pianist and a composer."

"How did you come to Rapture?"

"Out of mere chance, through conversing to a former resident I guess, then I took a boat here."

"Who do you currently work for?"

"Sander Cohen"

"Do you have a family?"

"No"

"Any children?"

"No, what the hell is the point of this?"

"What's your name?"

"What?"

"What's your name?"

"John Buchanan"

After that he did not ask any more questions, he tucked his hands away and all that was visible was a portion of the table. I was waiting for the light to start flickering, for this to all be a dream. I wanted to find myself waking up in my apartment, head to work, admire the sites, and be in good company. I wanted to have another steak dinner with William and his family. But the light did not flicker; my field of vision did not crack. This was real, and I had no way out.

"Hello?" I said anxiously "You still there?"

"Process him"

"What?" I said confused "What do you mean b-"

Suddenly someone grabbed my arm and put a needle into it. I could feel liquid gushing out of the needle and going into my bloodstream. I began to lose consciousness once more, about to enter another one of my never ending nightmares. I fell into a deep sleep; there were no dreams, no metal rooms, not even echoing voices, nothing but an endless void of darkness.

I regained partial consciousness and was facing a ceiling fan and some sort of lamp. I was lying down on something. There were two figures standing side by side of me. One was just looking at me while the other was . . . tampering with me. I could feel different parts of my head move every time that figure stirred his hand. I was not able to see their faces, my eyes did not regain full sight, everything was distorted. I tried to move parts of my body, but they did not respond, I was not even able to speak. All I could do was helplessly watch these men tinker around with my brain. I was able to hear sounds but was not able to make it out, my hearing improved and I realized the two figures were talking to one another.

"What's the hold up?"

"Treating MPD goes beyond taking mere anti-depressants and attending a few therapy sessions, somehow Mr. Sullivan's alter ego is dominating his daytime life. Even more ironic is that it was John who solved your little puzzle. Sullivan's skills in perception need fine tuning."

"None of that matters now, he's here and we need to get him back up and running. Time to inject the trinetil into his system."

"It hasn't gone through human trials yet. For all we know this can be a temporary treatment by which his brain continuously regresses overtime after the injection. Treatment will be near impossible and he can enter a vegetative state. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"We've got no other option. Let me know when you're done, I'll be here in a heartbeat."

"Will do."

The figure that observed me left the room, now it was just me and my unwanted surgeon, touching parts of what felt like my naked, uncovered head. He then stopped, although his figure was a blur, I could tell he was looking into my eyes.

"Ah, you're awake, no cause for alarm, merely putting back that which was once there. I am injecting Trinitil into your temporal lobes. It acts as a sort of neurological stimulant that gradually opens up repressed memories, more often than not traumatic memories. Go back to your slumber; this will take quite some time."

I wanted to stay awake, how much I wanted to stay awake to see what transpired. But I was too weak, too weak to stay conscious. My eyelids closed and I gradually went back to my deep slumber.

" _Will"_

 _I opened my eyes. I was in that damn room again. It was completely empty, the only object it contained was me. There was no door this time, nothing but a metal box that has me in holding. I panicked, tried to seek a way out by punching the walls, but it was no use. I looked the other way but then stopped looking for a way out. There was something on one of the walls, words smothered in blood. It said 'Home of Jol lBuclavan.' Was that my name? Why was it misspelled and written in blood? I sat down on a corner looking at this, thinking about what it meant. Hours soon passed and I was still in here, I began crying excessively. The emptiness of this place was too much to bear, I could no longer remember what was beautiful in this world, and only that which was plain and imprisoning. Was this to be my asylum? Is this retribution for me profiting off the blood of children? I do not know, no one was here to answer this. I started trying to rip off my own skin, desperately attempting to kill myself so I could end this nightmare, but it was no good. After all, this was a dream. I soon stopped crying and instead I was filled with resentment and hatred to those who put me here. I now only stared at the name imprinted in blood, not out of curiosity, but out of bitter emptiness._

 _Blink_

 _I look at the direction of the sound and too my astonishment a door appeared out of thin air. I walked towards it. The door contained the same name tag as last time, 'Will Sullivan.' I walked out and just as before white light blinded me. I heard the swaying of trees and the chirping birds once more, I was back in the park, only this time I was sitting in a bench._

" _Will" said a voice that sounded familiar, I turned around, it was the woman from my previous dream. She was crying like last time, but I did not remember it like last time, my memory was . . . changing. I knew this woman intimately._

" _Jessica what happened, where is Elena?" I said adamantly_

" _They took her, took her right out my arms, I tried bringing her back, tried to tell people what just happened to me. But no one would listen, they just stared at me as if I was insane." Jessica said_

" _Damn it, damn it!" I said furiously "How did this happen? How could you possibly let them take her? Our daughter"_

" _You don't think I tried stopping them? What can I do against three men while they dragged her out of my room? Please Will, please, I need you now more than ever, please bring me back our daughter. I don't know what I could do without her." She said, this time she was gasping for air, I hugged her and tried to calm her._

" _It's okay, It's okay. I'll bring her back, and maybe . . . we could be a family again. Does that sound good?" I said_

 _She stopped crying and then said "Yes, I would like that."_

 _Bright white light enveloped the land; this was my cue to wake up._

I opened my eyes; once again my head was covered in a black bag and I was cuffed in a moving wheelchair. It all felt like déjà vu, events repeating, yet somehow different, somehow with new insight on what's transpiring. The wheelchair stopped and the bag over my head was removed. I was in the same interrogation room with the same man shrouded in darkness, except for his arms.

"What is your field of work?" says the man.

"I already told you I'm a pianist and a composer."

"How did you come to Rapture?"

"By chance damn it."

"Who do you currently work for?"

"Sander Cohen"

"Do you have a family?"

I paused at this one. I did not know how to answer it for some reason; my memory was clouded and unavailing. What was going on?

"I remember, what I remember." I said

"What was that?"

"Yes . . . yes I have a family."

"Any children?"

" . . . yes, a girl."

"What's her name?"

"Elena"

"And what's your name?"

". . . John Buchanan"

He stopped at this question once again. His arms moved away from the light and no longer could I see where he was.

"Again." He said

"What? No what the hell do you wa-"

Another needle enters my arm and I fall into a state of unconsciousness. Soon I partially woke up and found myself lying down with two blurry figures standing beside me.

"What the hell happened? I thought you took care of this?"

"The procedure was complete, but the human mind is a resilient subject. He's refusing to let go of the fabricated memories and is not letting his original ones take flight. But soon the reality of things will kick in. He just needs a little bit more time, let him process his former self then the man you saw in the interrogation room will be no more."

I then closed my eyes, too weak to stay conscious. My fear turned to anger, my longing for life turned into a desire for death, but only if others followed.

 _I opened my eyes; back in my purgatory, my asylum. There was no more recollecting, no more pondering in confusion. There was just the cell and the name etched to the wall, it changed once more, a different name entirely, 'Home to Will Sullivan'. I did not care, everything was lost and dangling in my head. I no longer remember the touch of a woman; or the taste of bread. It all was so distant; all I truly know now is blood, the blood of others. Hours went by and I was still as stone, expressionless and emotionless, cursing God and anyone else who believes in divine revelation. In the end it's all one big amusement, God created creatures that manifest the qualities of his greatest adversary. He watches over us with a keen eye and sees the misery that has befallen us, as a species. He gets entertained by this prospect, and eats a hardy meal while watching countless innocent falls into their grave. God, as much as any of us, is a sadist._

 _My façade has broken, the time has come where I take matters into my own hands and save the life of an innocent from the heinous nature of those we call divine. This world, this Rapture, will fall into a chaos matching that of Armageddon itself, there will be no reconciliation for those who committed the unspeakable, there is only their blood that will be plastered on a wall, like an abstract piece of art._

 _Blink_

 _The door appeared once more; I stood up and went through it. Though this time there was no bright light, I simply came from one metal room to another. The man who speaks the phrase sat on the other side of a table. No longer was he a blur, but an older looking white man._

" _We're at war Sullivan, it won't be long now before deterrence ceases to exist." Said the man, "Bomb after bomb will hit our nation and the fallout will wipe out everything. Too stay ahead of the curb we have to look at all possibilities, this is one of them."_

 _He hands me a file, I opened it, and it contained pictures of a bottle of glowing liquid, a grotesque slug and then a man shooting fire out of his hand. Along that there were pages of information giving an in-depth analysis of what it was I was looking at._

" _We've lost contact with our team inside Rapture and have assumed their either incarcerated or have been terminated. Your mission is simple; retrieve the Bottle in the Winery and rendezvous in Neptune's Bounty. If any agents are still active and have been getting our messages, they will provide you with an antidote to your afflication and an exfil plan which will lead you to a ship harboring nearby. If all of them are deceased, then deliver it by any other means. You'll have a limited time frame, I cannot emphasis enough the importance of this mission, the fate of the human race rides on it."_

" _I understand sir, failure is not an option." I said_

" _Good, now go. You're being prepped for surgery in the next room. I'll be seeing you in a year or so."_

 _I got up from my chair and left the room. Bright white lights began to spread throughout the room once more and soon I was not able to see a thing._

My eyes opened, I've done this before; the black bag, the wheelchair, the cuffs. It was a series of events that were repeating themselves in a cyclical fashion, though different each time. This was the last time. No more dark, bleak rooms, no more questions, we will move on from this and press on to more graver issues at hand. The wheelchair stopped, the bag was removed, though I did not react to the movement, it was nothing that I was not used to anymore. I was back in the metallic room, with the man sitting right in front of me, and so the process repeated itself.

"What is your field of work?" says the man.

"I'm a field agent for the CIA."

"How did you come to Rapture?"

"By convincing Ryan's outside man, Ivan Petrov, that I am a man of Rapture."

"Who do you currently work for?"

"Alexander Smith, director of the CIA"

"Do you have a family?"

"Yes."

"Are you married?"

"Divorced"

"Any children?"

"Yes"

"What's her name?"

"Elena"

"And what's your name?"

"Will Sullivan"

He stopped asking questions and his arms slid away from the table. Suddenly lights all across the room came on. No longer was the room shrouded in darkness, I could fully see the man interrogating me. He smiled, came to me and said,

"Sir, welcome back."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 12

I was back, back to my former self, Will Sullivan. No longer was I trapped by the harness of highbrow pleasantries and useless squabbling, I was free. Though for some reason, I remembered everything that transpired as John Buchanan; my employment with Sander Cohen, my friendship with William Firth, and Elizabeth. It's impossible for victims of MPD to recall memories of their other personalities, and yet I know everything. They were all still there and it was hard to make sense of it all. Nevertheless I was able to clearly distinguish between John's memories and mine. That man was nothing like me; every action he took went against my code and beliefs; excess drinking, excess materialism, excess spending. No longer was I an eloquently spoken man with refined taste, but an average Joe who works for the Central Intelligence Agency. I was right at home in Rapture as John Buchanan, but as Will Sullivan, it was as alien to me as the endless cosmos. It felt like a lush surreal world full of fanaticism, and that frightened me. What frightened me more was the prospect that these little girls had already undergone that horrific surgery presented by company men. Though my little girl Elena was safe, Alexander promised me that much. I fulfilled my end of the bargain, after that I would retire and return to Jessica with Elena. I'll start a family again, no more yearlong missions and high risk operations, just a suburban home and a daughter to look after.

I followed the man who interviewed me through a short hallway; his name was Frederick Pitt,an analyst who had been here for the past two and a half years.

"Where's the rest of your team, I heard you had a whole operation set up here?" I asked curiously, noticing that there was no one here but me and were the two men that were holding me? Where was the doctor that treated me? Was that all a product of my mind?

"There's just me and a couple of others left, after Fontaine's death, Ryan black bagged one of the officers who gave the names of most of the operatives down here. From there it all went to hell, the operation nearly busted, until we took hiding here in Neptune's and kept our heads low. We can't leave this shithole; Ryan's security goons know all our faces."

"He gave out all your names?" I said a bit surprised by this; we were trained to withstand this sort of thing, interrogations and what not, what led him to this? "Damn traitor."

"What was he supposed to do?" said Frederick

"What do you mean by that?"

"Sodium thiopental," he said "Ever heard of it?"

"Can't say I have"

"Truth Serum, god damn truth serum."

We exited the hallway and entered a dock; three men were standing beside what seemed to be a bathysphere. Two of them were bulky men; the other was a smaller, fragile looking, and somewhat older man.

"Sir," said the two men, I shook both of their hands. These two carried me to the investigation room; one of them hit me in the head with the butt of his gun. I let it go, no point in holding grudges for something so petty. I walked towards the smaller man; it looked like he was calibrating the bathysphere. He did not even look at me.

"So is this my exit plan?" I asked him

"Yes it is, a fully operating metro bathysphere, makes for a wonderful souvenir for the surface, don't waste it" said the man. I knew that voice; this was the man who was operating on me.

"You're the one that treated me, brought me back." I said surprised

"Yes as a matter of fact it was me!" He said rather brusquely. He then looked away from me and continued his work. He was, to say the least, an odd man.

"Sullivan!" said Frederick, calling me to come to his direction in which I did. He pulled out a map of the surrounding ocean and set it on a nearby table.

"You're here," he said drawing a circle on one point of the map and then a line stretching across it. "This is where you're bathysphere is designated to go. There's a shortwave radio on it, use it to contact the USS Independence which is around here. From there they'll fly you out of here and into Langley with a full bottle of plasmids. You'll be a decelerated hero in the agency."

"Before any of that happens I want to see my daughter. Where is she?" I said anxiously

"Sir?" Frederick said a little startled

"You heard me; I want to see my daughter. We're boarding this sub together." I said insistently

He did not respond, instead he began to look away from me. Something was wrong; it should not have been this much as a hassle to ask to see my daughter. What was he holding back? "Hey! Did you hear me?"

"Sir . . . we don't have her."

". . . What?" I said, bewildered and infuriated. They were supposed to have her. Damn it . . . damn it . . . Alexander you bastard. "Where is she . . . where the hell is she?"

". . . Fontaine's Department Store."

My heart stopped beating, my astonishment turned to dread. Fontaine's Department Store: the penitentiary of Rapture. It is a hundred leagues below the city, a dark abyss where Ryan locked up all of Fontaine's goons; smugglers, criminals, collectivists, and from what I'm hearing, employees of the CIA. What is my little girl doing down there? "Why is she in a god damn prison? She's just a kid."

"I don't know . . . I sent one of my men to get her and maybe reconvene with some of our guys down there. That was three months ago, haven't heard back from him since. We couldn't risk anymore manpower to get her; we are a five man operation now."

I started walking in circles and put my hands on my face in frustration. It was happening all over again, I should have known better than to trust Alexander. "What the hell is going on in this city? It's just a fucking whirlpool of nonsense."

"Sir . . . I do-"

"Stop. . . I'm going after her."

"What?" Frederick said in disbelief "Sir, this might be our last chance to get this package outside of this godforsaken place. Don't throw this away, we've been in here for years and haven't made any progress until now."

"That's why one of you guys will be heading up there." I said

"Sir?" He said, a bit confused

"I've been in this field of work for a long time. Whether or not I come back a hero or a disgrace to the agency doesn't mean a thing to me anymore. But coming back home to my wife with my kid means the world. Take one of your guy's home. Whoever he'll be; he deserves it way more than me. Whichever volunteer decides to go, he has to tell the USS Independence to remain stationary for at least another week, if I don't make it in time then it gets the hell out of here."

He did not say anything to me and looked down. He was contemplating my plan, considering it. He better take it because I was not taking that bathysphere without Elena. Frederick then walked towards the feeble man, the one who did my surgery. They were talking to each other, no doubt about my plan. I did not have time to ponder over their decision; I had to make my next move. How the hell was I going to get to the Department Store? I don't know how to operate a bathysphere let alone reconfigure its coordination system. The only sound thing I could come up with right now is to buy a private bathysphere; but where will I get the money? The damn thing is more expensive than a home in Olympus Heights, selling my apartment will compensate for most of the money I need. Maybe there is some fool in Olympus who keeps all his valuables in an apartment. I can easily access a personal vault without any issues, and it would not draw any attention. That's my plan; withdraw any cash that I have gained over the past few days, sell my apartment, and steal whatever valuables those rich bastards might leave lying around. It was not a particularly good plan though. What were the chances that someone had left behind fifty thousand dollars in an apartment vault? This was more of a gamble than a plan, but it was better than anything else I could come up with.

Frederick and the doctor walked next to me. Frederick said "It's a done a deal, old Turner over here will take your place, the rest of us will stay and continue on with our mission."

"Frederick, what mission? You guys stay here any longer eventually Ryan will bring the hounds down here and none of you will see solid land again. Get that damn bottle out of here and take your men home." I said stubbornly.

"Sir . . . it's not that I don't want to get out of this rat hole . . . it's just . . . I've seen things . . . unspeakable things . . . things I wish I never saw." Frederick said with a great amount of despair "But I did and now I have a duty to stop it. Before I leave I need documents, proof of any sort that these things took place so I could bring the full force of the U.S. navy down on these scumbags."

"You're talking about the girls aren't you?"

"It's more than that . . . much more. . . No we're staying, there's still a lot to be done, but thanks for the offer." Frederick said. He then left my side and exited the dock. I suppose this was my queue to leave, and so I did. But first I went to talk to this Turner fella to thank him for his decision, and for getting that chip out of my head.

"Hey Turner" I called out; he looked at me and gave me a blank face. "Thanks for this pal, really needed someone else to take that bottle out of here and I'm glad it was you."

"You made a grave mistake Mr. Sullivan," Turner said to me

"I'm sorry?"

"Fontaine's Department Store, correct?" he said "How much do you actually know about the penitentiary?"

"That a bunch of criminals take refuge there? I'm not following." I said. Was there something I didn't know about this place?

"Tell me Sullivan, have you ever read the bible?"

"Can't say I have."

"Revelation 6:8: 'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth'. Does that mean anything to you?"

"I honestly don't know, haven't been very good at interpreting biblical met-"

"Hell on Earth, Sullivan. If you go down there the apocalypse will commence. The Four Horsemen will wreak havoc amongst humanity; conquest, war, famine and death will consume us."

"Stop speaking in metaphors. If you want to say something then say it?" I said

"I'll tell you this; the devil lurks in the halls of the abyss. His cunning is unmatched, his antics supreme. He hides himself in the guise of others, those who are weak and feeble minded will fall for his falsehood and become servants of hell. Do not fall for his guise, for once you make a deal with the devil, his wrath will be unleashed onto all of humanity. Everyone you hold dear will be no more."

Turner then walked into the bathysphere with the plasmid in his hand. I did not answer back to him because I was lost in confusion. There were so many ways in which that could be interpreted. I then walked towards him and asked him what I thought at the time to be a thoughtless question. "So you're a devout Christian?"

He looked at me and gave out a short laugh, "I'm as much a Christian as you are a musician. All I am saying is that what is beneath this city is of biblical proportions, and has made me a believer in burning pits and demons. Oh, and about the surgery, pay no attention to the voices."

"The what?"

The hatch to the bathysphere closed before he had a chance to respond and the sub went under. It was finished, my mission to Alexander was complete, and never again will I take part in his schemes and plots. My other mission on the other hand was far from done. I still had to find my daughter before I could leave here.

I soon left the dock along with my fellow CIA brethren and entered one of many fisheries in Neptune's. The place was jam packed with workers, many of which looked to be in poor health. This was a deep contrast from what I saw earlier last night; which was like walking into a dark barren wasteland. I soon exited the fisheries, entered a bathysphere station, got into a bathysphere, and headed into the forbidden city; though this time not as John Buchanan, but as Will Sullivan. The smug elitists surely had a surprise waiting for them; a 'low life' operative representing everything they despise was currently their next door neighbor.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 14

"Hey! If it isn't Mr. Buchanan himself, the musical prodigy of Rapture," said a man walking towards me to shake my hand, in which I did the liberty of doing. This was the fifth man who came to applaud me for Buchanan's fame. It has been two months since his last performance and he is still getting praise from the public, Sander was right when he said 'this will be the show people will talk about for ages to come.' One thing John Buchanan and I had in common was our spite towards these fans. Patrons of the arts many call them; I just see them as nuisances who envy Buchanan. Only as Will Sullivan, my spite and hatred towards them had grown to astronomical heights. I did not even consider the possibility that the residents had a clue as to what Andrew Ryan was doing. But Elizabeth words stayed in my head.

 _Those contempt with their lives tend to look the other way when the unspeakable happens, as long as it doesn't affect them._

In the end no one here was innocent besides the many children that occupied Rapture. I walked in the crowded lobby of Olympus Heights and saw children everywhere running about and playing different games. Everyone here was looking at them with feelings of glee and joy; they pride themselves on having such free spirits roaming the city. I looked at them and all I could see were the green glowing eyes and the purple veins streaking from their face. I saw the impending future of children who have yet to experience an ounce of life. I thought more and more of Elizabeth's words.

 _I'll be in Fontaine's Department Store in the foreseeable future and will undergo similar tasks. Maybe . . . together . . . we'll be able to dent the system, once and for all._

Looking at these children and remembering those words made me feel like I had a greater responsibility to the little ones that inhabited this city. If I left here with my daughter but ignored the pleas of others, then what type of monster would I be? How would I be different from the bastards that walk amongst me? I will find my daughter, but maybe that can go hand in hand with helping Elizabeth. She is supposed to be going to the Department Store in the near future. That is where I will be as well. I briefly recalled the warning Turner gave me, yet could not remember a single thing he said. Biblical metaphors always threw me off. All I remembered was that the devil lurked the halls of Fontaine's Department Store. Whoever that was I would be ready for him, nothing was getting in the way of me finding my daughter.

"John Buchanan you young chap, how's the rascal treating you?" said an older British man that popped out of nowhere.

"Um . . . good thanks." I said "Listen I need to head out so if you don't mind-"

"Oh of course, his majesty is waiting for you, I understand . . . cheers then." He said, and then walked away. Strange people lived in the city; some would corner you and entrap you with words so they could fill their ego, others are just clueless bystanders who follow the crowd. He was part of the latter.

I walked to the checking counter and asked for the manager, Barbara Morgan, it was time to return to her what was never really mine. I was called into her office and so I entered. Inside was a gleeful woman in a gloomy dimly lit room.

"What can I do for you today Mr. Buchanan, I trust your new home is more than satisfactory." Barbara said

"Yeah about that, I need to return the apartment," I said a bit nervously, not knowing whether or not there were repercussions in leaving the elitist class. "I need to return it right now."

"Mr. Buchanan, if there is something you find displeasing about the accommodations I provided, I would have you tell me at once." She demanded

"No, no it's not that at all . . . I just have a few financial issues I got to deal with, and right now I can't afford an apartment." I said hoping that was an adequate enough answer.

"Very well then, I will have you reimbursed immediately, if you would just wait here." She said standing up and preparing to leave her office.

"Thanks," I said, she walked out and left me alone in her office. It contained many pieces of abstract artwork, though not the type a parent would show to his or her child. They were dark and portrayed the vileness of this world. There was one behind her desk, a painting of a distorted man covered in black paint. He was scraping his face with his hands; his shrouded body was melting into liquid. There was something in that painting that was clear as day, the figures eyes. The eyes of a slave, forever imprisoned by his own grief. It was glaring at me with utmost hatred. I looked away, all I thought of it was that it was a terrible impersonation of The Mona Lisa. But out of temptation, I looked at the hideous thing on the canvas, that glaring conniving demon that was piercing through my soul. It was still looking at me, with more hatred in its eye than the last time I beheld it. Then, amazingly it began to move, his melting skin began to move to the floor, his hands came off his face; the distorted blackness gradually left the figure. What was melting off him was not his skin but his façade; a man began to emerge out of all the darkness and distortion was gone and to my horror the man in that picture was me, and he was moving like he was alive. He pulled out a cigarette from outside the canvas, started smoking it, and then he looked at me and smiled.

"So you're this Will Sullivan I've been hearing so much about" said the portrait of me, "You've been out for less than a day and already show a lapse in refined taste and eloquence, selling my apartment without my consent. That's just boorish."

" . . . and you are?" I said, questioning my own sanity

"John Buchanan, pleased to make your acquaintance," he said "I would shake your hand, but . . . well life as a portrait isn't exactly the most spacious."

"How the hell are you still inside my head?" I asked my former ghost "I thought Doc Turner got rid of you for good."

"The brain is a curious subject, it's composed of physical mass and is visible to the human eye, therefore allowing humans to treat it, but the mind is something that will never be completely cured nor understood due to its abstract nature. So in a sense you got your body back but I'll always be next to you, we're going to be the best of friends." He said with devious smile

"That's how I talked when I was you? Christ my wife would have loved you."

"Not all that interested in your wife, there is only one-"

"Yeah, yeah I know that you get all riled up when Elizabeth ever comes up. I got your memories remember? I don't have time to talk about your needs, so if you don't mind get out of my head", I said insistently

"First get out of my body, you're ruining everything. Selling my apartment and then going into Fontaine's Department Store? You're out of your wits my friend. Here you got a grand life, some lovely friends you can always have a chat with. Why throw that all away? For the slim chance your daughter might be alive? It's a hellhole in the Department Store, the chance she's alive is the same as you undergoing divine revelation. It isn't going to happen."

"You know for a ghost you seem to be missing a big part of the issue here." I said

"And what's that?"

"I don't play the piano."

He did not answer back, I looked up at the painting, and it was back to its former self; an atrocious self-deprived man covered in black. Good riddance, the last thing I wanted was ghosts of my past following me. The door to the office opened and Barbara came in with a duffle bag, presumably with my money.

"Here you are," Barbara said opening the bag "one hundred thousand dollars, I can count it if you wish, so there will be no misconduct."

"No that's fine, sorry for the bother but would you mind telling me how you came by that painting?"

"Marvelous isn't it? A Sander Cohen original, he tried to capture th-"

"Thanks, that's all I need to know, I'll be off now." I said reluctantly. Of course it was Cohen; I cannot take a shit without seeing some of his artwork. I stepped out of the office and went back to the lobby of Olympus Heights. My next step was finding a nearby bank to see if Sander put in my weekly pay. Fortunately there was one right next to the café here. I immediately went to it and asked to make a withdrawal.

"You have a total of fifty thousand dollars in your account, how much would you like to withdraw?" the banker asked

"All of it, put it in this bag" I said to the banker, holding out my duffle bag which already contained a hefty sum of money.

"What do you plan to do with all this long green?" he asked

"Buying a private bathysphere, can't take the metro system anymore, if you get my meaning." I said

"Very well then, fifty thousand dollars out of your savings account, I hope you have a pleasant afternoon." He said, I walked away from the bank, at this point I had enough cash to buy the bathysphere. All I had to do now was go to Market Street. Market Street was a residential and retail promenade that served the many needs of the wealthy. If you wanted to buy the highest quality luxury items, that was the place to go. I soon entered a bathysphere station which to my surprise was almost entirely empty. For the first time I entered a metro bathysphere without anyone else in it. The ride most certainly would take around 15 minutes, which gave me the opportunity to get a little shut eye before I embark on my treacherous journey. I closed my eyes and entered into the darkness once more, hoping that I would not undergo another vivid dream.

"Wake up Sully!"

My eyes opened and to my astonishment John Buchanan was sitting right in front of me. The ghost of my past has come to haunt me once more, taking a multitude of shapes but always coming back in the form of my body.

"Get back in your square frame, I don't have time to deal with your-"

"Shenanigans? The only one who's pulling the elaborate scheme is you, using my identity and money to fulfill a dream that might never come to be. Come on your smarter than this, you know how this is going to end. Why not just live a life that most people dream of having?" John said proudly

"John, how long do you think I could pull off being you; a smug son of a bitch who thinks comfort first, then the safety of little girls. I wouldn't live your life even if someone pointed a gun to my head." I said

"Oh don't be naïve, you know how these institutions work, you're an employee for one of them. We do these things in the name of progress. I mean have you ever seen a society so rich and satisfied with its lifestyle? One that is so prosperous that the rich no longer make up only one percent of the populace? We're so well off that when the CIA got a glimpse of what goes on down here, they told themselves, 'we need some of that'. This is all done for the greater good of the human race and your agency sees that. So why can't you?"

"Because the god damn 'prophet' of this city took my daughter in the name of progress", I said, growing angrier the more he talked. Buchanan then took out a cigarette from his pocket and began smoking it, while at the same time shaking his head in disappointment.

"You see its people like you that irritate me. You would kill hundreds if it meant saving your family. Family is as much a backwards institution as religion; one would destroy in the name of God, the other in the name of love. How many countless innocents must suffer in your pursuit of one girl? If you go down this path, thousands of lives will be destroyed and all the death will be on your hands."

"That won't happen," I said firmly

"And how can you guarantee that?"

"It won't, now if you don't mind, my ride is over, so scram," I told Buchanan, he did not answer back. The light in the bathysphere suddenly turned off but went back on a second later. He was gone, vanished into thin air. I suppose that's a common trait for ghosts; to have the ability to appear and disappear whenever they choose.

The bathysphere arrived at Market Street and I quickly got out. Unlike the station at Olympus, Market Street's was jam packed with people. It almost felt like a snow day in a New York metro. I could see a multitude of mothers and fathers leading their children out of the crowd, dozens of angry men yelling at the ticket man, and even a barbershop quartet singing a tune at the side. It was difficult to get out without walking into people constantly; most of them would politely apologize if I bumped into them. Market Street must have been a popular destination for residents of Rapture; it was more populated than Frolic itself, which I am sure Sander found displeasing. I found the exit to the station and quickly went through it, what was on the other side was a large hallway that had a neon sign that said 'Welcome to Market Street'.

If Frolic was the center of art and pleasure, then Market Street was the center of scenery and fine dining. The Rapture promenade was every rich man's dream; it showed the full extent of Rapturian artistic prowess, had immaculate shops on every corner, and dining tables all across the promenade where people sat, drank wine and ate macaroons. This place was so rich and lush with life, it almost made me want to leave behind all my plans and listen to Buchanan's advice . . . almost. I walked past the impeccably designed halls and the lavish stores that encompassed them to make my way to 'Gregory's Bath Works', it was the only place I knew of that sold private bathyspheres, and I meant to get one. That was my final step in Rapture, after I head to the so called abyss known as 'Fontaine's Department Store'.

"John?" said a familiar voice; I turned around and saw a man that was well acquainted with Buchanan, but a stranger to me, William Firth.

"Well this is a surprise," said William, "What are you doing in this part of town?"

"Just . . . taking a stroll", I said reluctantly, I did not have the time to deal with this.

"Great! . . .listen John are you still pursuing that thing we discussed?"

"And what might that be?" I said

"The bottle in the winery, don't you remember?"

I looked at him in complete astonishment. How did he know about the code name to the plasmid? Then it came to me, John Buchanan told him; that fool was not able to keep his mouth shut. Firth was a liability and at this point I could not afford one, especially when I was this close. More memories of John Buchanan's past began to appear in my head, I suddenly remembered that this man was a husband and father, just like I was at one point. If I took him out then Buchanan would be right, blood would be spilt in the name of love. I would leave his children fatherless, taking away their innocence at an early age. So I decided to do the one other thing I was good at but led to my divorce. "That's behind me now, besides, I like life as it is. Don't want to change it and risk everything because of paranoia."

"What? . . . John you made the right call, I was . . . afraid at the time. But now I get it . . . stay silent, don't stay silent; it doesn't make a difference." Will said, he then handed me a newspaper which headlined 'Missing Girl', "Todays story in the Rapture Tribune, most people here are thinking this was a tragic accident, others are happily taking part in this. Five months ago another girl was abducted and no one has seen her since. This isn't going to stop."

"Right, why do you care all of a sudden?" I asked

"In a few years my girls will be six years old, who's to say they aren't next?" Will said

He seemed sincere, but at this stage I was not able to afford to have a small time businessman following me around. I had to tell him another lie, one that will make him steer clear from my path.

"You're delusional, this is Andrew Ryan we're talking about, not god damn Stalin. He's a man with principles and . . . taste. He gave me a life that I never dreamed of having, how can I pay that back by going behind his back?" I said, struggling to find the right words to say to Will, I was nowhere near as eloquently spoken as Buchanan was.

"John, what has gotten in-"

"Will I'm sorry but I got an appointment with Sander in 30 minutes, it was nice bumping into you pal, stay in touch." I said, quickly leaving before he had a chance to respond. At first I did not think upon my visit with Buchanan's friend, but suddenly I grew full with sadness and regret, sharing memories with Buchanan made me realize that William was one of the few good men in Rapture. My former self recognized that and formed a close friendship with him. I in a way just betrayed Will, abandoning him in his time of need. But I was not his friend, that version of me was buried deep inside my head.

After a series of interruptions from ghosts of my past, I finally made it,'Gregory's Bath Works'. I was about to enter the store and buy the sub that would lead me to my daughter, but then suddenly someone grabbed and pulled my shoulder.

"Will, I told you I gotta-"

"You John Buchanan?" It was not William Firth, there were two men standing right in front of me wearing dark trench coats. One was Caucasian, the other African, and both were very built. There was something menacing about them, from my first glance, I knew they meant trouble.

"What's it to you?" I said defensively

"We have a warrant for your arrest," said one of the men, taking out a pair of handcuffs. I looked at them in bafflement. How could they know? How could they possibly know? Neither I nor John gave any hint of Will Sullivan. God damn it . . . I was compromised; Rapture was officially one of the most dangerous places in the world for me. Though I did not break character, to them I was still John Buchanan, so I better act like him. "On what charges?"

"For conspiring against Ryan Industries and for falsifying your identity, Will Sullivan," he said, coming ever closer with those handcuffs. At this point I was in complete bewilderment; this was not possible . . . unless . . . son of a bitch.

"Come on, put your hands where I could see them," said one of Ryan's security goons. And so I did, raising my hands so they can embrace the cuffs of imprisonment and certain death. Though that was not going to happen.

"What the-"

I grabbed the handcuffs and pulled it towards me, forcing the guard holding it to lose his balance. He fell to the ground and I immediately pressed my ankle into his nose. The impact made the goon fall to the ground and grunt in pain. This gave me a narrow time frame to make a run for it. The other guard, stunned by my action, reacted too late to my furious escape, allowing me enough time to get a good head start on them.

"He's making a run for it!" One of the guards screamed

I dashed through the crowd, brushing through pedestrians as fast as an artist moving a brush of paint through his canvas. This was my field of expertise, I dealt with the same exact thing in Cuba and got away, the only difference was that I would have to make my own exit plan here. The guards were clumsy, I could hear them bumping into people while trying to come after me. At this rate, I would lose them in less than a minute.

"Shock the bastard!"

I heard something fairly close by, it sounded like a surge of energy enveloping somewhere, I looked back and saw lightning gather in one of the security guards hands and then, _BANG!_

Blue streaks of light came at me in the blink of an eye and hit me. Jolts of electricity flowed through my body; I could no longer feel my heart beat, and my nerves felt nearly nonexistent. I fell to the ground and began to lose consciousness, slowly descending into a deep sleep. They got me . . . it was over.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 15

I have done this before; the black bag, the shackles, and the two men carrying me too my unseeable destination. It all felt so familiar, yet somehow different. The last time this was done to me, I felt relieved, like I just escaped an unbearable prison after a decade of imprisonment. Yet here I was heading into the complete unknown, unable to determine what would happen next. I did not have any foresight, no piece of intelligence to prepare for what was to come. This was a world far different from anywhere on the surface; it's ideology inapplicable anywhere else, its technology far surpassing anything on the surface. Everything here was alien, and I was the primitive visitor from the surface of Earth.

Unlike my fellow agents who dragged me into an interrogation room, my two other captors did not say a word to one another. All I was able to hear were their footsteps and a screeching noise coming out of my wheelchair. Suddenly it stopped andI heard one of the men walk in front of me.

 _WHOOSH_

They removed the bag from my head and to my surprise nothing changed. I still saw nothing but an absolute darkness that dominated my field of vision. The two men walked away from me and shut some door behind me. I was alone in this black and forbidden place, a place where they take the forsaken and dump them with the rest of their shit.

"It started with an act of charity, a feeling of chance, a chance where I could have been proven wrong of my precarious superstition. Someone like you came along and gave me the illusion that I might be correct, that there might be something worth preserving from the surface. Then it all faded away, like dust on a windy day. Tell me, Sullivan, which are you; CIA, KGB, MI6? I built this city on the foundation of avoiding the shackles of federal agencies and dim witted bureaucrats, to give the artist the tools he needs to create his masterwork, to provide the funds necessary for the scientist to find a cure to the supposedly incurable afflictions that plague our world. You and your master seek to snatch the work of great men without their consent. What does that make you, Mr. Sullivan?"

Ryan . . . he was here. The treacherous man was only a couple of feet in front of me. How I wish I was able to get out of these shackles and slit his throat, though that was something I was incapable of doing. I heard him walking in circles around me. I was not able to see him, there was zero visibility.

"Well?" Ryan said

"Listen Ryan, talk to Sander, I'm sure we can clear up th-"

"A thief, but worst of all Mr. Sullivan you are a fabricator. Your agency artificially engineered a living breathing mind with vast potential to make a contribution here, and replaced it with an almost synthetic being that can only perform orders for his kindly master."

"You're wrong about me." I said to Ryan

"Then what brought you here? What can possibly make you stir such a ruckus in my utopia?"

"Crimes against humanity," I said, giving off a grin.

"You're referring to the girls." Ryan said, he stepped closer to me and suddenly a bright light came on, flashing right into my eyes. They eventually adjusted and I saw a lamp facing directly towards me. Behind the lamp I could see the reflection of this utopia's leader. He walked in circles around me, and all I was able to do was turn my head. "Tell me, have you ever heard the story of The Lion and the Hyena?"

"Ryan, let's work something out-"

"It all begins in the grasslands of Africa. A king ruled these lands, a grand lion by the name of Boipelo. He was a large and brave king who firmly defended his lands from those he claimed to be vile and would bring chaos to his kingdom. He had a family, a wife and two cubs he dearly cared for. He also was the leader of a large group of warrior lions that protected the border. His kingdom was prosperous and he spent most of his days with his family, teaching his cubs what the future had in store for them. Though one day it all changed. One of the species that Boipelo cast away from his land was the hyena. Time and time again they tried to get into the kingdom through brute force and failed repeatedly. The leader of the Hyenas, Jaakobah, was scarred in battle multiple times trying to reach the richly populated kingdom and grew to resent the lions more than any of their rivals. He decided one day to change his tactics and challenge the king to a dual. If Jaakobah wins the dual, he would be allowed into Boipelo's kingdom. The king merely laughed at this and accepted the challenge, knowing that he was far superior in strength and size. They met in the border of their lands, each bringing their warriors to witness the dual. As expected, Boipelo easily outmatched Jaakobah and he was left with another scar on his body. Boipelo wanted that scar to be etched upon his body for the rest of his life to be an indicator of his defeat. Jaakobah challenged him again in which the king accepted, the result was once again the same. The king grew to love the fight; the thrill, the showcase of strength, and the pride that followed. With each dual Jaakobah demanded, the more warriors the king decided to bring with him so they can witness his victory. With each dual Jaakobah lost, he received another scar that would signify his defeat. The king grew more confident with each victory until one day he decided to bring all his warriors to witness his next fight. When he arrived to the border, he realized the hyenas had not come yet, and so Boipelo waited for Jaakobah's arrival. He waited hour after hour, anxiously waiting for his adversary to arrive. Out of frustration Boipelo left for his home. He then noticed something troubling, darkness enveloped the land, clouds shrouded the sun and no sign of life was to be found. Boipelo ran to his home in fear something had happened. When he arrived he saw his and other wives of the warriors lying motionless on the ground, not a single breath was drawn from any of them. The cubs were nowhere to be found. He thought to himself 'what could be the meaning of this? How did this happen?' Suddenly one of his warriors came to him in a panic and screamed 'Hyenas have crossed!' While the king summoned all his warriors to witness his dual, Jaakobah and his hyenas took advantage of this and swarmed the land while at the same time claiming there revenge. The king was horror struck and filled with grief, his kingdom and his family fell because of his pride. Boipelo did nothing as the hyenas ransacked and butchered all those that were under his protection. Years passed and the hyenas have claimed the kingdom for themselves while the former lion king lay on his death bed, still grieving over his loss. In the final minutes of his life Jaakobah came to visit Boipelo. Boipelo looks at Jaakobah in horror, all of his battle scars were gone, healed over time. Jaakobah gave out a sinister smile, began to laugh, and then the former king fell into an endless sleep."

The story had finished, neither one of us spoke afterwards; we only looked at each other; one in clarity and the other in confusion. Ryan then walked away from me and opened the door, another pair of footsteps walked in while the other left. That was it? Ryan came to tell me this? No interrogation? Not even a speck of curiosity? Just that? He was gone now, and a new pair of feet came through the door.

"And here come Judas in all his glory, reenacting his famed betrayal as a fable story, treating his so called friends like a pack of quarries."

My eyes widened, I knew that voice, but that was impossible! He should have been long gone by now!

"Turner?" I said in complete shock

"Hello, Mr. Sullivan"

Anger filled my body; I tried to get out of that wheelchair with all my strength, lunging myself over and over again while screaming at the top of my lungs. He was supposed to leave with the plasmid and put a stop to this place. That traitorous bastard!

"No need for that I won't be long, just going to give you a shot of Sodium Thiopental. Once this is in your system, all your secrets are going to gush out. We just need to figure out who gave you the orders to retrieve the plasmid and then you'll be on your way. Of course we'll have to perform electric shock therapy in the aftermath; you're way to large of a public figure to just disappearing from thin air. Or we could do a Trans orbital lobotomy, whichever you prefer. Either way you'll have to be somewhat mule. Shall we begin?"

"Wait!" I said panicked, "What are you going to them? T-the ones who gave me the orders?"

"Why, kill them of course." Turner said laughing "After all they are an impediment to Rapture's growth and Ryan has a very effective hit man on the surface with a bottle off plasmid just waiting to be used, it shouldn't be a problem. And after he's done with that lot, maybe he'll come after your bitch wife."

I was lunging once more in hatred and spite towards this sick man, trying to grab hold of his neck and squeeze the life out of him. "I'm going to kill you, YOU HERE ME YOU SICK FUCK? I'LL KILL YOU IF YOU TOUCH HER!"

"She had a contract with Ryan industries and broke it. Which is unacceptable by Rapturian standards. It says, and I quote, "in perpetuity", meaning, like the rest of us, she's buried at sea. Now keep still, this is going to sting." He said, getting out the needle and coming close to me.

"Get your hands o-"

He injected the thiopental into my system. Chills began to run across my entire body, I could no longer feel my muscles and lost all state of mind. The anger that once drove me was replaced with forced obedience. I gave him a blank expression and just sat motionlessly in my chair.

"Is your name John Buchanan?" Turner said

"No"

"What is your name?"

"Will Sullivan"

"Do you have any wife or kids?"

"Yes"

"What are their names?"

" . . . Elena and Jessica"

"Remind me, which one was your wife?"

"Jessica Sullivan"

"Well, there's one person who needs a bullet to the head," Turner said. I screamed and lunged myself forward to grab him, but it was no good. Here he was controlling all my impulses while taunting me by telling me how I was going to lose everything I held dear. "Moving on, why did you come here?"

"To retrieve The Bottle in the Winery"

"No other reason?"

" . . . To get my . . . daughter . . . Elena . . . out of this place"

"And where is your daughter as of now?"

"Fontaine's Department Store"

"Very good Sullivan, I just have two more questions and we're done," Turner said. "Who sent you here?"

" . . . Alexander Smith, Director of the CIA."

"Is there someone else you might know who currently knows the whereabouts of this city?"

"Not to my knowledge"

"Excellent, thank you for being such a sport; I'm going to give you a sedative right now so I can prep you for surgery. I was going to give you a choice between the two treatments, but given how much knowledge you have on the field, I simply, in good conscious, cannot let my patient make the decision for me. So as a renowned professional in my field of work, I think a trans orbital lobotomy will be the ideal treatment. When you wake up, you'll be a new man, or something less than a man."

He then injected me with the sedative and I began to lose my consciousness. I closed my eyes and prepared myself for the end of my existence. Once Dr. Turner was done with his treatment, I would have the brain span of an infant. Then I would be institutionalized, never again to be brought back into the public eye. My new life will be made up of four cornered walls and employees who drag me to my cell for misbehavior. This was the end of things to come, there was nothing left I could do, for all my strength and determination,I was only human.

" _Will!" said a familiar voice calling out my name._

 _I opened my eyes and suddenly I was back in the park; where the birds sang and the children ran with gleeful smiles. Now I just had to wait for the oblique darkness; the heavy rain and the loss of life that will soon come to being._

" _Will", said a voice behind me that sounded flustered. I turned around and to my surprise it was Buchanan, my ghost has now come to haunt me in my sleep in a benign and peaceful setting. "Is this it? Is this really the end?"_

" _Yeah," I said taking a seat on a nearby bench. "There's no way out of it."_

 _Buchanan then took a seat next to me. For the next few minutes we did not talk or look at one another, we just stared at the vast wilderness that was in front of us. It was all so peaceful, so full of life. Birds were chirping in the distance, trees swayed as gusts of wind propelled the land._

" _It was a hell of a ride," John said, "Listen, no matter what happens, I want to-"_

" _It's alright, John . . . you don't need to explain yourself. Let's just sit down and wait it out . . . it's too beautiful of a day to be grim."_

 _After that we did not speak a word to one another, we just waited for our inevitable rebirth. Thankfully my last memories in this Earth will be one of trees and clear skies. Maybe there is a God up there watching us, giving anyone who nears death one last act of mercy. He gave me the chance to see the sun again rather than the dim ocean floor, to feel grass on my feet rather than a hard marble exterior. It was all I could ask for. The park grew brighter and brighter, soon light surrounded the park and I was able to see nothing but a blank white. That was my calling, it was time to leave. Tears began to come out of my eyes. I failed everyone I held dear, leaving them to a miserable fate of loneliness and death._

" _Elena," I said, my voice was cracking and my eyes gushing with liquid. "I'-Im sorry, I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me most. I hope . . . in the next world . . . wherever you are . . . you can forgive me."_

 _I fell to my knees gasping for air, I was not ready to die, there was still so much I needed to do. Yet I could do nothing. Suddenly I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I look back and it was Buchanan, smiling at me as light embraced him. I stopped crying and picked myself up. Soon I was not able to see my own body parts, white light just cut through everything. It was time, and I was ready._


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 16

Redemption

"This is a mistake; this man is a menace and a fiend. He gained an insurmountable of wealth in a matter of months in the guise of an artist. This is Frank Fontaine all over again; you really want to repeat the process?"

I slowly began to open my eyes, everything was out of focus. I then let out a gasp, my memories were intact, I still remember everything. A smile came out of my face, but then my eyes began to clear and I saw an infuriated Dr. Turner staring at me.

"Look at him! He's a scoundrel, how can you-"

"Look pal, these are Ryan's orders and I'm just the messenger and the enforcer, so could you please step aside so you can give Sullivan and his guest some privacy?" said a guard of sort

Dr. Turner looked at me with absolute hatred and malice. But he walked out of the room in defeat with the guard and I was alone, chained up on some sort of surgical table. The door opened and a new figure came in, a familiar one. It must be William Firth, after all he was . . . John's only friend in this city.

"From a butterfly who soared to the highest of points, to a conniving snake that has a knack for deception. My . . . my, you most definitely have the eye of the artist, whether you see it or not."

Well I'll be damned, this was not Firth, but rather it was John's mentor, Sander Cohen. I have memories of seeing his face but it was something extraordinarily terrifying to see up close; the fake eyebrows and mustache, the mortifying eye liner, and those god awful eyebrow extensions. His face was a memory I would have until the end of time itself. I sometimes ponder upon whether or not he was an old fruit. But at this point it was a pointless thought. He stopped Turner from undergoing the surgery so I should show some gratitude.

"Little viper, why do you forsake me? Why take away my compeer, my soaring butterfly? He shunned the doubters, but because of your engagements, I will be left with more than just a pack of wolves howling on my doorstep." Sander said outraged.

"Hate to burst your luck but Buchanan never really existed, there was only Will Sullivan, which is me."

"No . . . one cannot simply produce transcendence in the arts. That is something achieved through sweat and tears, not through outlandish gadgetry. Tell me what I need to know, and I can see fit that you leave this abominable place."

"There was no outlandish gadgetry involved. I was diagnosed with a medical disorder known as Multi-Personality Disorder. Buchanan was just one of many of those false personalities. So are you here to help or are you just wasting my time?"

"Oh . . . Sullivan, you entreat me to release you from your harness, but what good is a rabid dog to Rapture, after all . . . the good doctor did complete his surgery and this meeting never truly came to being. Farewell little viper, after Turner is done with you, you'll be nothing more than livestock."

"Wait, WAIT!", I screamed out to him. It was dumb of me to provoke him. I needed to come up with an answer; Sander was not an easy man to fool. But soon it came to me. From all the experiences I recalled as John Buchanan, his final, incontrovertible, evaluation of Sander Cohen all came down to one word; psychotic. "I'm guessing you're a man who loves stories with tragic heroes.

"Yes . . . of course, only in the right time and place."

"Oh fuck that, I know you better." I responded.

He began laughing maniacally for a short time, but soon figured out that I was entirely serious with him. "Mr. Sullivan, that is a bold declaration. Claiming to know me? The indubitable king of theatre? The most beloved patron and creator of the arts? The playwright that makes Shakespeare look like an insensible dolt?"

"There's nothing in this God green Earth you cherish more than

"You don't need the original host, anyone will do. You can reinvent John Buchanan completely and get back your prized gem."

"That is certainly a sound plan, but then I remember you are a conniving viper. Tell me viper, why should I trust you with such a delicate matter?" Sander said.

"Cuzz then you can provide me with something I need, a way into Fontaine's Department Store."

Sander gave a bewildering expression when I mentioned the Department Store, but then he began to laugh hysterically. I wanted to shut him up, but in these harnesses I could not even plug my ears. "Sullivan, now I know . . . you're out of your wits. No one voluntarily goes into a purgatory that defeats the whole purpose of it. Why would you want to go to such a hellish place?"

"Because my daughter is in there and I have to get her out," I said hesitantly, I did not want everyone to know about my purpose, some would certainly use that against me, but not Sander. "Isn't that one of the only things you believe in, how love and pain are emotions that help transcend our . . . meager existence? Please, let me fulfill my existence, my daughter Elena means the world to me, and I would do anything to get her back because of how much I love her, please Sander."

"And what's stopping me from simply asking Dr. Turner to give me the chip and implant it into a host?" Sander said

"Turner's a man who likes to keep his gadgets to himself, and pride himself on his accomplishments. You really think a man like that is simply going to give away his prized gem?"

"And what, you can make him spill out his secrets?" Sander said curiously, wondering where my plan was going.

"You'll be surprised at what I could do to men like Turner."

Sander did not respond. He just put his hands on his face in frustration and then walked in circles around me. He was contemplating my plan, probably assessing the risks involved in it. After all Sander was a huge supporter of Andrew Ryan, and he thinks that in essence he would betray him by doing this. But that was not the case at all, so I elaborated further. "Untie me and bring Turner into this room, once in I'll interrogate him and he'll give me the location of the chip. After that I take care of him, and leave a note of the location the cabinet to your left. You will come to the conclusion that I'm too mentally sporadic to be part of a mental asylum and therefore should be sent to Rapture's purgatory, The Department Store. After that you'll still be recognized by Ryan as one of the greatest artists in Rapture and you'll have your prized gem, in which someone like Steinman could implant the chip into a new host, what do you say?"

"It's a deal," Sander said, he started unstrapping me from the harness, that was much easier than expected, he must be very eager to get Buchanan back. "Wait here."

Sander left the room and I quickly got off the surgical table. I looked around the room to see what I could use. I picked up the metal pick that Turner was going to use for the lobotomy along with a scalpel and a white rag. I hid them and went back onto the table, waiting for him. The door opened and in came Turner, holding a clipboard and a pen. He put those aside and went next to my table.

"I just got approval from Ryan to perform the surgery, but before I have to give you a sedative, so stay sti-"

Before he had a chance to finish I went up, grabbed the back of his neck, and slammed his head with the back of the scalpel. He fell to the floor dazed and confused. Before he had a chance to scream, I dashed from the table, placed him face forward, and stuffed the rag into his mouth. Then I took out the needle and put it through his leg. He screamed as loud as he could but it was no use, his face was covered with pain and his eyes expressed shock and bewilderment. He struggled, but I had in my grasp, he did not stand a chance. I got out the pen and clipboard he brought in and then pointed the needle on his other leg.

"Where is the chip?" I said to him, he looked at me in confusion. I didn't have time for this, so my needle punctured his other leg. Once again he screamed in agony, tears started to flow down his face, and blood was gushing out of his leg. Like he could draw any sympathy from me. "WHERE IS THE GOD DAMN CHIP?"

He then put his hands up, signaling me to give him a piece of paper from the clipboard. I did so and he began writing the destination. When he finished I checked it, it seemed authentic enough. I quickly grabbed hold of him and dragged him to the nearest cabinet, where I put the note. I then made him stand up and put the satchel to his throat.

"You did all of this so you could live a grand life while the rest of us get the axe. You betrayed the agency, worst of all; you threatened to kill my wife. You think you get to walk out of that? You think because you gave me what I wanted that I would let you go? You're a stupid, sick fuck. This is where you scream." I said, then I took the piece of cloth out of his mouth and he did what I expected.

"OH GOD, PLEASE DON'T DO-"

I grabbed him by his hair, slammed him against the wall, and then slit open his throat with the satchel. Blood poured out of his neck and dripped all over my clothes. I let go of him and he fell to the floor. He was choking on so much blood that he began to spit much of it out of his mouth. He started looking at me, drawing out all his energy to reach his hand towards me, as if I was supposed to do something. I just stared at him expressionless, void of any emotions. Soon he lost consciousness and did not draw breath. He was dead, and the blood just kept oozing out of him. I dropped the spoiled satchel and waited for the guards to show. Two men stormed the room, following them was Sander. The two men quickly went up to me with their batons and one of them smacked me right on the head. I fell to the ground unconscious, losing sight of what was real and what was not. I entered a sleep that would last for days, after one injectable to another.

I gradually began to regain consciousness. There was a bag over my head, though the bag was not thick enough to cover all my sight. I saw that I was in one of the more glamourous rooms of Rapture and standing beside me were two figures, both of them were smoking cigars and looking out at a window showing off parts of the city. Though everything was shrouded, I was not able to get a clear picture of where I was and who was with me.

"This is a mess, having him in an asylum might allow him to kill again, that will only stir panic amongst my citizens, former star now turned into an outright maniac. You were a witness Sander, how appalling was it?"

"Blood was everywhere in the room; Sullivan merely stood still and smiled at what he had done. His eyes craved blood, the blood of others. If I did not know any better I assume that he brands what he did as art. I'm no professional in the field of psychological behavior but any dim witted buffoon can see that Sullivan's affliction cannot be cured. The most reasonable thing to do right now is to send him to the purgatory. Once there, I doubt he will last more than a day. All your problems will go down the drain."

"So be it, put him in the bathysphere, I do not want to hear the name Buchanan ever again in my city, do I make myself clear?"

"He is a renowned figure; one cannot simply use an eraser to wipe away a painting."

"Tell them the truth, if I learned anything about my citizens, it is that there hatred for federal agents outweigh their love for anyartist . . . that will be all Sander."

I began to lose consciousness once again, I was too weak to continue this. I fell into another deep sleep. At this point I assumed I left the room with Andrew Ryan and Sander Cohen. Hopefully this was the last time I would ever see the two again, the last time I ever see this Vietnam was a more preferable choice than this; at least there I would be amongst friends. Here I am alone and isolated. The only friend I probably have left here is Elizabeth. I had to find her, by now she's already at the department store.

"Will Sullivan, the hero of the hour."

I opened my eyes and felt a strange descending feeling. I looked up and realized I was in a bathysphere, and it was moving down. I no longer saw the shining city of Rapture, or the rays of light that made the ocean floor visible. I was descending into an unseeable place. Suddenly lights from the bathysphere came on and in front of me were large rocks filled with underwater sea creatures, ranging from sharks to other such organisms. The bathysphere just continued to go down and did not slow in pace. This purgatory was located at the deep in the ocean. Fantastic, how the hell was I supposed to get out of this? Surely there were some bathyspheres down there that I could use; otherwise I just made a grave mistake.

"We're headed 5,000 fathoms below Rapture, as happy as I am to be alive thanks in part to you, I must say you're an absolute idiot. How do you propose on getting out of here?" said Buchanan

"I'll figure it out"

"That's a relief," John said sarcastically

I was about to answer back but the rocks cleared, and the purgatory was right before my eyes. It was a tall building with neon lighted signs all around, though most of them were broken. The building was shaped like a man with spiky hair and a pronounced beard, as if it were some sort of temple to Poseidon himself. Right in the buildings chest, the words 'Fontaine's Department Store were inscribed in it, open enough for anyone to see. This was the place, chills ran through my spine, what the hell was in there that everyone was so afraid of? Before I even had time to contemplate that, the radio inside the bathysphere turned on.

"And now a poem from an anonymous author relating to your ill-fated position" Said Sander Cohen

" _You're being held down._

 _Held down by your demons_

 _You can't breath_

 _You can't take it anymore_

 _No one will care_

 _No one will notice_

 _The time has come_

 _Grab the knife_

 _Grab the pills_

 _Grab the rope_

 _Write you're note_

 _You're dying"_

"In essence Sullivan, this poem translates to, embrace death. Alive or not, you're descending to a dark and forbidden place that knows nothing but suffering and pain. Welcome to Hell, the one and only."


	18. Chapter 18

Part 2

 **The Devil's Lair**

Chapter 18

There it was the definitive heart of darkness. Within the abyss of the Atlantic was Fontaine's Department Store, three large building complexes in shambles and under the mercy of the deep blue sea. It was a daunting sight, the top of the main building had the head of Poseidon, symbolizing a once great enterprise once under the rule of Frank Fontaine. Now it served as a prison for all those involved in the enterprise. The awe felt from Poseidon's head has withered away, trumped in the confines of his own domain.

*We gave up sesame soy glazed salmon and a two hundred thousand dollar penthouse for this?* Said my ghost and my "shoulder angel" Buchanan

"We didn't give up anything, you're not real", I said looking at the department store. This place was not Rapture, not one bit. Up there they had blue spotlights, archways filled with people, and protectors repairing damaged sign posts. Here there was one large building with a lighted title that barely worked, that was it; there was not a speck of life to be found here. As the bathysphere moved closer to the alleged prison, I noticed something odd. The building was composed of windows from every corner, yet, not one of them had a light on, the rooms were just comprised of oblique darkness. "Something's not right."

*Beg your pardon?*

"Not a single light on in this entire building, how do you reckon that?"

*I don't know, what do you think is in there?* John replied indifferently

"You got me."

*You can't even speculate? And here I thought this was your forte.*

"You know, I remember back when I was about to undergo the lobotomy, you showed off a speck of kindness and we were cooperating for once. In fact, that was the only time you even slightly resembled the Buchanan that roamed Rapture. What happened there?" I said curiously

*I'm as much John Buchanan as you are, I'm not supposed to act or think like him in anyway, in fact I'm not even real.*

"Then what the hell are you?" I said frustrated, whatever this thing was it was commenting on every miniscule thing that I did and it was infuriating.

*I'm your shoulder demon, I'm the ghost of Rapture's past, I'm a hallucination, I'm real, I'm not real. Take your pick.*

"Christ", I said completely irritated. I knew that I wasn't going to get any answers from him. I'll get a doctor once this is all done and have this treated. For now I'll let him blabber away.

*So into the devil's nest we he-*

 _BAM_

I fell back to the floor in shock. Something hit the bathysphere; I looked to the front window to see what it was. A figure was right in front of it. At first it looked like a person, but as I looked closer, I realized that was not the case at all, it was a mannequin; a faceless, pale mannequin. It was wearing what used to be a dress, now it was nothing more but ripped cloth. I looked to my side, to my horror there were at least a hundred more damaged mannequins just floating about in the ocean floor, all faceless, yet somehow staring at me. What the hell sort of place was this?

The bathysphere began to enter the buildings dock. As it entered the tunnel, I noticed that there were posters advertising things like different plasmids and upcoming shows. Unlike the posters in Rapture, these were covered by signs that read "Closed by decree of the Council". At least there was some form of order here; maybe some guards will be expecting me once I exit the bathysphere, though that would not be preferable. The bathysphere quickly ascended into the building and then stopped. The hatch for the sub opened and I walked out.

*Well this is dandy.*

"I'd say," I said looking at the bathysphere station. It was completely empty; there was not a single person to be found. The lights were barely functional, even the neon advertisements blinked about. The floor was an absolute mess, nothing but broken glass fragments and some sort of dried up liquid. I went to get a closer look at it; the liquid was red and made a trail out of the station. It did not end there; this stuff was all over the station.

*You don't think that's-*

"Blood . . . it's all over the place." I said to Buchanan. I explored the station to get a better idea of what went on down here. Dried up puddles of blood were in multiple areas, bullet holes punctured several walls and chairs, and some of the neon signs completely fell to the ground. I walked towards the exit slowly, not knowing what to expect next. Suddenly the lights from a billboard turned on and sitting in front of it was a body. I went closer to examine it; the body was completely frozen, his chest was missing, as if something went right through it. No blood was gushing out of him; his internal organs were entirely frozen.

*I suppose any sense of order in this place is out of the question*

"This isn't normal. Mind the frozen chest, gallons of blood were littered all over the floor and it's all spread out. Whoever was here was mauled to death and ripped open."

*How can you tell?*

"Take this," I said walking towards an area where blood was prevalent. "You have no concentrated pile of blood, rather it's formulated into a deformed circle of sorts and the center of this circle is empty. The victim laid here while someone tore right through the poor sap, ripping out all his internal organs with its bare hands.

*So now we're dealing with monsters*

"If you mean sick fucks that get pleasure from doing these things, then yes, that's exactly what we're dealing with."

I decided to then leave the station; I had seen enough of this place. I went through the exit and began to slowly walk up a flight of stairs. Like the station, this place was coated in blood . . . someone was dragged up here. I went through a station and now stairs leading out of it, yet there was still not a single person to be found, just endless blood and a body. As I reached the top I began to slow my approach going through a door that led me to a lobby. Like the station it was completely deserted. Water leaked through different cracks around the building and formed large puddles throughout the area; the structural integrity of the building was weakening, probably from the pressure of the ocean floor. There were empty shops on the side and in them were lights that were fluctuating by the second, repeatedly turning off and on. I stayed by the side of the lobby, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention. Coming up were a few damaged couches, one of them happened to have a small box of .32 rounds, just what I needed.

*That's awfully convenient, don't suppose there's a tommy gun lying around there too*

"Never question providence; it's not every day you see a box of bullets lying around on a luxury chair." I said, loading my revolver with the bullets "Now I know you don't really exist, but where do you think this Elizabeth is at? It's an awfully big place and I don't know where I'm heading."

*My memories are your memories, we're one in the same.*

"Right then, I suppose we just keep looking," I said to him anxiously, it was a big place, easy to get lost. I did not have much time, my daughter was close by and God knows what was lurking down here. I passed the couches and walked to the end of the lobby, but then I saw something that evoked curiosity. Lights were on in the last store to my right; it looked like a rundown boutique store. I decided to make my way over there, hoping there was someone else in this forsaken place.

"AHHHHHHHHHHH"

A scream came out of the store, it was a female. I quickened my pace and took out my revolver, entering the boutique shop. Like the outside of the store, it was filled with mannequins, all of them stripped of their assigned clothing. I stayed to the side of the store, cautiously looking for the woman. Inside the boutique store there was another room, the door was open and a light was on. I could see the reflection of the woman and standing next to her was a man.

"So you're leaving me now? Can you at least give me the courtesy of telling me who she is? Joe answer me . . . please." yelled the woman in the other room. So that's what the fiasco was all about, a damn cheating scandal? Even in a prison love somehow prevails. I lowered my revolver and began to casually walk into the room, whatever those two were undergoing, it could wait, I had questions.

"DAMN IT JOE, ANSWER ME!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. I slowed my pace once more, this argument seemed heated and might turn ugly.

"Am I not pretty enough for you anymore? Is that it? AM I NOT GOOD ENOUGH?"

I peeked my head out and saw the front of the room, yet there was nothing. I then move forward and turned my head to the right and there they were, man and woman standing beside one another. Only . . . there was not a man . . . it was a god damn mannequin. Something was off; I could feel it, a chill running down my bones.

"Ma'am . . . are you alright?" I said, she looked away from the mannequin, but I still only saw her back. Not a word was said nor any muscle moved, she just stood there silently. Her hands were shaking, her neck was bruised, and her gown a mess.

"Are you here to take me to the beauty pageant? I always wanted to be part of one. Please take me away from this place."

"Alright now," I said to her, placing my hand on the revolver "Turn around now and . . . we'll talk this through."

"What's that? You don't like my dress? But I spent days putting it together? H-ow . . . HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE IT!"

"Settle down there Miss, I need you to turn around now," I said to her. She complied with my order and began to turn around. When she finally faced me I . . . I . . .

" . . . Oh my god"

"What's wrong, I-I thought you said we were going to the show together."

I did not reply. My hands were shaking and I stepped back.

"YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE ME? BUT YOU SAID I HAD IT IN ME! YOU SAID I WAS PRETTY!"

"Stay back!" I said to her, pulling out my revolver and pointing it directly at her.

"DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU MEN AND YOUR GUNS! I'M GOING TO TEACH YOU A LESSON IN MANNERS."

Suddenly the woman began to sprint towards me in full momentum. I panicked but kept firm in my position and pointed the gun directly at her.

"Don't make me do this!" I said almost pleading her.

She just kept running towards me.

"STOP!"


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

I was a child when the world around me began to change, where innocence became nothing more but a waning memory. My father was a blunt realist, he believed that we should be shown the harsh reality of things at the earliset of ages. When I was no more than six, I asked my father a question that would change the very fabric of my perception of man. I asked him 'what makes men do bad things'. He told me to come to his office, there he turned off the lights and turned on a projector. He then asked me if I knew anything about Stalin in which I told him no. All he said about him was that Stalin was a man that had grand visions on what to make of his country before coming into power, once in power he grew to be something else entirely. A picture came out of the projector, it showed an endless pile of bodies lying on the ground. They were all deterioriating, and only had a sinlge cloth to cover them. Individual shots were taken of each body; things such as deteriorating skin, blank facial expressions, and glaring red eyes were common attributes given to each corpse. Mass graves were dug where these naked corpses were buried. He then turned it off and told me that all sorts of men were capable of doing the unspeakable, but that it was men with vision that were the greatest dangers to civilization. After that everything changed for me, I no longer asked questions, no longer felt the joy of playing in the park. I was just a still and quiet boy who detested man for all its faults. Chaos within my family began to propagate after my mother began to realize something was wrong, I told her about what father showed me. She fell into a state of despondency and anger, fights between her and father grew in frequency. Not a day went by where I did not hear her cry. Then, one day she disappeared and we never saw her again. I took a tragic evolutionary misstep in my early years, I grew up too fast. My mother saw it and looked at me in hopelessness,the product of a world glistened with abomination and travesty. In the end she was right, I became a killer of men, and now I was a killer of women. I had truly become my fathers son.

I left the lobby in a rush, after the gunshots went off a multitude of screams came after. I did not wait to see what was coming, I was in too much shock and could not shake it off. I was running in full acceleration, passing by lobbies, stations, and hallways. Soon I reached what seemed to be a functional elevator. I could still hear the screams drawing closer to me, screams of past men and women. I pressed the elevator button multiple times for the door to close. Soon I saw them, running like vile fiends shrouded in darkness, carrying metal rods and wrenches. The door began to close and the sight of them faded away. The elevator began to ascend and I pointed my revolver towards the door anxiously awaiting for something to come in, something sinister and bred to wreak fear in the hearts of all men. The elevator stopped and the door opened . . . nothing was there. I entered what seemed to be a bar. Broken bottles were littered all over the floor. I looked at both corners and then exited; checked the counter, the storage area, even the flipped tables. No one was here; I closed the only door that led out of the bar, sat down next to a wall, and then pointed my revolver at the door, waiting for someone to come in. But after five minutes of anxiously waiting, nothing came. I gave a sigh of relief, put the gun down and then laid my head on the back of the wall.

*Will, I believe it's time for you to run, now!* Said my ghost Buchanan. This time he came in form sitting right next to me, drinking a bottle of imagined whiskey.

"Not now . . . I need time to think," I said closing my eyes.

*Only you don't have time. It's not going to be long before another one of those things shows up, only this time you'll only have two bullets to stop one of them.*

"And what do you suppose I do, hm?" I said in an angry tone "Being that you're the expert."

He did not speak afterwards and everything was silent and still. What did he know about my field of work. This was John Buchanan, the golden goose of Rapture, a wealthy member of the elite without a care in the world. It was not him that had to pull out the gun and make the hard choices. But now he was quiet, sitting next to me, not making a single whisper. I stood up and went inside the storage room. There were a dozen plus unused bottles of whiskey. I took one and sat back down next to Buchanan.

"Did I ever tell you about my tour in the Korean War?" I asked him

*No.*

" . . . I was assigned to a station located in the outskirts of Seoul, wassupposed to gain intel on North Korean positions for American aircrafts to target. The station was located inside an apartment building, pretty much invisible to the public eye. Next to the building was The Seoul National University Hospital. There was a window where I worked that overlooked the entire University. Every so often I would look out and see one troop transport after another dropping off wounded soldiers. I saw medical students carrying these soldiers inside the hospital, they were nothing more than kids, forced to undergo the realities of war. Still they handled it and better yet faced the challenge wholeheartedly, treating their troops to the best of their ability. These kids became the reson for my staying in Seoul and helping with the war effort. I wanted them to go back home to their families, and if that was too much to ask for, then at least let them come out of this thing alive. A few days later reports came in that the platoon protecting the university was overrun by the North Korean Army. The station was evacuated and all our documents was put into the fire. But I stayed, in hope that I might get a chance to warn the staff of the hospital, but I was too late. Tanks surrounded the university and troops stormed into the building. After that all I was able to do was listen to the endless gunshots and screams that came after. I was stuck in the station for days, waiting for the troops to move along, but they didn't, and the screams of nurses getting mauled by automatic guns continued. A week later they finally moved along and I left the station. I then entered the Hospital in hope that there was still someone alive . . . someone I might be able to get out. The moment I walked through the door, I saw bodies littered on the hallway. Bodies of doctors, wounded soldiers, nurses, and students. All were riddled by bullets, leaving no flesh untouched. The result was the same everywhere else, nothing was left but punctured bodies. Nine hundred people died in that hospital, nine hundred families forced to have closed casket funerals because those bastards disfigured all of their bodies with high caliber guns. No one in the hospital made it out . . . there was one case that . . . "

*. . . What case?*

"Nothing," I said getting up and leaving the bottle of liquor on the floor. "We . . . I should get moving."

He did not answer back. I picked up a backpack lying on one of the tables for the sake of storing supplies. I then exited the bar and began my search for my daughter.

"Hold it right there."

Standing in front of the door was another man, waiting for me this entire time to come out, and I fell right for the trap. He was a mid-sized white male who had a long scar across his face. He was pointing a shotgun directly at my head, this could not have come at a better time. Though he was not like the others I just encountered, he was . . . normal. Maybe he could be reasoned with. I placed my revolever on the ground and put my hands up, in hope that he would not blow my brains out.

"Who were you talking to?" the man demanded

"What?" I asked

"I heard you in the other room, who else is in there?"

"No one, it's just me pal! Listen why don't you put the gun down and we can talk about this?" I said to him, doubting that tactic will work, but it was worth giving a shot.

"Get back in there!" he screamed. He then hit me in the chest with the back of his gun. The impact was not hard but it was enough for me to realize not to patronize him again. I walked back into the bar. He took out a pair of handcuffs and chained me up to one of the poles, never leaving his eye off the room, just in case "someone" did jump on him. He then checked every corner of the room, only to realize there was no one here. But for some reason this only worried him more. He came to me and then said "Let me see your arms."

"Get me out of these handcuffs and I'll be happy to show them to you." I said. He complied and uncuffed me. I then pulled out my arms and he began to check them intimately, looking for something. After checking them, he gave a sigh of relief but still pointed his gun at me.

"Who were you before you came down here?" said the man

"Names Will Sullivan, I'm an operative for the CIA and am here to extract a very delicate package." I said to him. He's here for a reason, meaning he's no friend of Ryans; the enemy of my enemy is my friend. He gave me a look of bewilderment and then, surprisingly, a smile. He put the gun down and then offered to help me up. I accepted and he lifted me up from the ground.

"Jimmy Thompson, analyst for the CIA, I was sent here to extract that package", He said, putting out his hand to shake mine. I was positively relieved, I had an ally in this miserable hellhole. "We'll talk later, right now we need to go. We've been here too long."

I knoded my head in agreement, picked up my revolver, and headed out of the bar. Outside of it I entered another hallway and then came an large metallic door with no knob to be found, only a malfunctioning switch.

"Great, how are we supposed to get out now?" I said, while constantly looking behind me to see if anyone was coming.

"I got just the thing," said Jimmy. He raised his hand and suddenly jolts of electricity came out and hit the switch. Somehow it was operational again. He uses plasmids, and in a very effective matter too. He pulled the switch and the door opened, but suddenly the air got colder. We entered what used to be a diner and it was entirely frozen. Multiple corpses occupied the café and sat frozen on the chairs. There was a large window that gave us a view of the ocean floor, but it only added to the gloominess of the room. I could see nothing but dark rocks and a hideous glowing fish that just circled the window. Suddenly, I heard footsteps, me and Jimmy hid behind one of the tables to see who it was. Unfortunately it was another one of those things I just encountered. She . . . it . . . stopped in front of one of the tables that held a corpse.

"And what could I get you today mister? We have smoked fish for the house special." It said, talking to the corpse. What the hell was wrong with them? "Oh t-thank you for noticing, I j-just got my hair done today, you like it?"

"How do you wanna go about this?" I asked Jimmy "We could try to go around her or we could go in guns blazing."

"I got another solution, stay here." Jimmy crouched and pulled out a wrench from his bag. He then walked away from the table and slowly began to walk towards it. What was he thinking? I was barely able to stop one of those things with four bullets from a revolver. What the hell is a wrench going to do? Bolts of lightning came out of his hand and hit it, completely immobilizing the thing. Jimmy then sprinted towards it and slammed his wrench on its face. The thing fell to the ground and Jimmy continued to pound it. Blood began to squirt out and I could hear the gore getting pummeled with each hit. After ten or so strikes, Jimmy stopped, the creature was now nothing more than a bloody pulp, it's face turned inside out. It was not exactly the most subtle way to get rid of the problem, nor the cleanest, but it was effective and he did save bullets and blood. I left the table and started to follow Jimmy once more.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked

"My hiding place, it's in the next room. There we could talk."

We entered a room inside the cafe ,it was an office of sort. Behind the office desk there was a shaft. Jimmy removed the exterior protection with his wrench. "After you."

I went through the shaft and entered a small four cornered room. In it was a mattress and an influx of ammunition, weapons, even explosives. It looked like Jimmy was prepping himself for war, though I could not blame him for stockpiling this many weapons. Jimmy came from behind me, took off his boots and laid down on his mattress. "Alright we're here, is there anything you wanna ask me before my questionning?"

"What the hell are those things and how many of them are there?" I asked. I was still not able to get their faces out of my head, nor their vicious screams. They were following me as if they were ghosts from my past. Jimmy looked at me curiously and then asked, "How long have you been down here?"

"An hour at most." I said back.

"Makes sense, I'm assuming Ryan didn't spill the beans on what happens when you inject too much Plasmid into your system, did he." Asked Jimmy

"Wait you can't mean-"

"That's precisely what I mean. Remember the effects of ecstacy? How large amounts of serotonin are released into in your system, giving you the allusion of invincibility. Imagine a drug that releases twice the serotonin and actually gives you that invincibility by rewriting your entire genetic code so you could obtain, to put it in simple terms, superpowers. Heh, you release plasmids into the surface and the worlds economic landscape changes in a heartbeat, the way we fight wars will take on monumental shifts, hell even policy making won't be the same. But like any drug, addiction arises. What do you think happens to addicts?"

"Mental and physical deterioration." I said

"Precisely, and being that plasmids are such powerful stimulants that changes the very nature of the human body, that physical and mental deterioration reaches resounding . . . horrifying new heights. Addicts begin to have extreme hallucinations and the lines between reality and whats in their head becomes severely blurred, they lose all sense of sanity. The person that was once there becomes an killing machine without any sort of moral compass, all thought is focused on satisfying their unquenchable thirst. As for their physical deterioration . . . whatever was once there, whatever was deemed beautiful before, there's nothing left. They all became reincarnations of Frankenstein's monster. Whenever you see one of these things, don't hesitate to put a bullet in its head, they won't wait."

"Do you have a code name for these things?"

"Yeah . . . people call them splicers"

" . . . Christ." I said. I was this close to sending one of these bottle of plasmids to the surface. If a greedy business CEO got his hands on this, a pandemic would have spread. We would tear ourselves apart. Whenever I do end up dead, I need to thank Turner. "Is there anyone else stuck here? anyone sane?"

"Mostly political prisoners, but the main honcho in this place is an irishman by the name of Atlas. He was a champion of the destitutes of Rapture and a huge adversary of Ryan, that is until Ryan sent him here. Ever since then Atlas has been gathering all the poor saps locked up here and is amassing something near an army. Don't know what for though, not like we're getting out of here."

"Atlas huh," I said, this was interesting yet not surprising. Like any prison there seemed to be a hierarchy at work here, and this Atlas was at the top of the pyramid. Someone in that position knows all the internal workings of what is going on in his domain, meaning he might know something about Elena or Elizabeth. "Can you lead me to him?"

"No one just sees Atlas," he said giving off a smirk

"You just said he's a man of the people, isn't he inclined to see all sorts of folks?"

"That was then, now he's in an purgatory full of psychopaths, you can understand the need for discretion."

"What do I need to do to see him?"

"You need to join his peoples army and prove that you're loyal to the cause, once that's done Atlas will tell you all you need to know, that is if it doesn't interfere with his plans in anyway."

"Thanks that's all I need to know, I suppose it's your turn for the questioning." I said to him

"I suppose it is", Jimmy said in a saddened tone, staring at the floor and not saying a word for a few seconds. "How are the boys doing up there, are they all right?"

"Jimmy . . . they're gone . . . Turner gave Ryan everything, betrayed us all for cash and an fancy apartment."

"Yeah I figured . . . you should go then, get your daughter out of this place and make it back home. Atlas has an outpost located in the Blue Hill Diner, once you exit the shaft just head right."

"Come with me, I could use a man with your talents, plus at this point you're the only person I could trust down here." I asked him

" . . . I'm sorry, I can't. I've been down here for two years, the people I worked with, we became close. Under orders from the heads of the CIA I was told to come down here and get your girl . . . I've been down here for seven months fighting these things and finding any possible escape route. Their isn't any, we're all animals in a cage. My hope was that I would eventually rendevous with my boys and find a way out of Rapture together, they were my means for staying alive. Then in the blink of an eye they're all gone. Langley just left us to rot. I'm tired of following orders from old men while watching the young die. No more . . . just leave me."

I was about to say something and try to make him reconsider, but. . . he was broken. So much loss and travesty took a toll on him. I respected his decision and let him be. I picked up my belongings, took twelve .32 rounds, and headed towards the diner.

"Sullivan . . . I'm sorry I couldn't get her." He said to me with a crackling voice. He then took out a bottle of liqour from his bag and took large sips from it. "I'm . . .I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess."

"Hey, hey," I said putting my hand oveer his shoulder " You did everything you could and I'm greatful for that. Don't you dare blame yourself. Just take care of yourself now, alright?"

With that, I vacated the premise. My goals were clear, but in the instance I left his room, they became blurred. After what I told him I felt like I had a responsibility to him, to care for someone who had seen the worst of us. Like me he became an efficient killing machine out of desperate action. Unlike me, he has nothing left to fight for, all his comrades were dead. I gave him a heavy burden to carry, would it have been better if I simply told him a lie? Or was I just delaying his inevitable fate? I stopped walking the instant I was in front of the exit and pondered on these thoughts. I just stood their contemplating on what to do. Soon I made my decision and walked back to the shaft, in hope that I could do some good.

 _BANG_

A gunshot went off. I rushed back into the shaft, went into the room, and there he was; Jimmy Thompson lying on the floor, and blood scattered all over his room. I was now, undoubtedly, alone.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

I was the last one left, no more friends to provide me sancturary and protection. My pack had died off, leaving me, the head wolf, to fend for myself. There was no one left, the only other agent left put a bullet through his head. Blood soaked the walls of his room, his mattress, even his guns. I grabbed his body, put him down face forward, and then closed his eyes. It was the only act of kindness I was able to perform on him. There was no ground I could use to bury him, no wood for a fire, nothing. His body would remain there, to rot. This was wrong, these men gave their lives for what they believed was right, yet no one will remember them. To most, he will just be another nameless corpse in an insane asylum gone out of hand.

*What a tragedy* said Buchanan

"Come on, I still have a job to do," I said to John. I began to take all the ammunition Jimmy collected, along with a tommy gun. With this sort of firepower, I would be able to tear through anything that gets in my way, though lying low was still my best option. Along with all the ammo, Jimmy also had a few injectible plasmids lying around. I took a few just in case I might need to use them, but only as a last resort. Behind the plasmids was a map of the entire department store. I picked it up and gave a sigh of relief, even with Jimmy's directions no doubt I would have still been lost. I put all of this into my pouch, grabbed the tommy gun and headed out.

*Well I'm glad that your type treat fallen comrades with such dignity and decorum.*

"Look at where we are, you think this is the sort of place where funerals are held and civilized folk wander about? If I'm going to make it out of here with Elena, I need to play by a whole new set of ground rules."

*Heh . . . you god damn CIA men.*

"Not going to argue with a ghost," I said to him. John did not answer back, this was my que to leave. I exited the shaft and made my way to Blue Hill Diner. I hoped this place was a safe haven, I was growing tired of the endless corpses. I entered what used to be a glamourous shopping center. It had the winding walkways and marble columns I would expect from a building in Rapture, only they were covered in soot and bulletholes, turning the glamour into something inhospitable. The one positive consolation about this area was a private bathysphere that was on display. Not a hint of damage on it, a reminder that at one point, this was once a fine-looking establishment.

I was making my way through the center until I suddenly heard a noise. I stopped walking and the sound became clearer, they were footsteps. Someone was coming, I silently jogged to a store and hid behind a counter. I peaked my head out to see who was in here. Five figures came out, they were all holding weapons and were walking in a strange matter. As they got closer, I saw disfigurements on their faces; splicers. I took out my tommy gun and waited for them, though the odds of me being able to hold off five splicers were not in my favor. They were moving ever closer to the store, to a point where I could hear them talk.

"Come . . . out . . . now. Made a promise not to hurt no one, mostly." Said one of the splicers. The door to the store opened and I immediately ducked. I could hear a multitude of footsteps, all of them were in here and I had to get out.

"Come on Stevey the goods are up their, leave the bastard." Said a female splicer

"Shut your yap, he's here, carrying a bag of goodies I'm just aching to get my hands on, find him."

No longer were they together, now they dispersed throughout the shop in search for me. I had to move quickly, I only had a few seconds until one of them checked the counter.

"Damn it," I stood up, aimed my tommy gun at the nearest splicer I saw, and fired. Bullets punctured its chest and I stopped firing. Somehow it was still standing. Blood was gushing out of his chest and mouth, but the splicer just looked at me and gave me a smile.

"FOUND HIM" The splicer screamed. I aimed my gun at the splicers head and fired once more. This time it fell to the ground.

"Now what'd you do that for? He was my number one pal! I'm gonna make you pay scum." Said the head splicer. Behind him were three others that were carrying wrenches and metal pipes. They did not look fully spliced, they had some level of sanity left. Nevertheless I was not going to take any chances, they were addicts with weapons, we were far past the stage of reasoning.

"Let me out and I promise you won't get any bullets to your heads." I said to them

"You sure you got enough bullets for the lot of us?" said the head splicer. He took out his wrench and started walking closer to me, scratching his wrench on the wall, making an eerie sound as he got closer. "Cuzz if you don't, I'm gonna bash your skull open."

That was the last of that, these people could not be negotiated with. I pointed my tommy gun at him and readied myself to fire.

 _BAM_

Something hit the back of my head and I fell to the floor. My tommy gun fell and slid away from me. I tried to grab my pistol, but then something hit my hand and I screamed in response. I was forced up by someone who was holding both hands behind my back. In front of me was the leader of this pack. He slowly came up to me, smiling and shaking his head in disappointment.

"How 'bout now chum, feeling so tough without your precious tommy gun? I'm gonna ask you one time, where are my plasmids?" he said to me, pointing his wrench directly at my forehead.

"I'll tell you, on one condition. You tell your man to let go of me and once I tell you, I walk free."

"It's a done deal!" said the splicer, now putting his wrench away.

"Behind the counter there's a bag, in it all the plasmids you can ask for. Dig in." I said

All the splicers eyes widened and they instantly ran towards the counter; including the one holding me. They then scrambled to the bag and fought each other ferousciously for the plasmids, even though there was plenty for them all. They were wild animals who were not able to reflect properly due to their craving, which leaves a man such as myself at an intellectual advantage. These fools left the tommy gun on the floor and were all concentrated in one area. I quickly picked it up, pointed it and rained fire on them. Bullet after bullet came out of the barrel, hitting its targets with precision accuracy. After a multitdue of shots hit each splicer, one by one, they began to collapse. It was only when they were all on the floor did I stop firing. Then the room fell into a silence and the splicers did not move a muscle. After my second encounter with these things, I almost got killed and wasted a quarter of my ammunition. I had to reassess how I could take these splicers down more effectively. How did Jimmy manage to stay sane while using plasmids when everyone else turned into a god damn psychopath. Using them would save me a lot of trouble, but I was not going to take the chance until I knew how to use it without turning into one of those things. I went to the bodies and grabbed my bag filled with ammo and plasmids. It was soaked in blood and other such liquids, but I managed.

*You know at one point these things were human beings with wants and needs like the rest of us. Couldn't you have spared them a more dignified death?*

"Christ, you got a thing for dignity don't you. Since when was there any decency in killing? I do this because I have to, it was either me or them."

*You could have just grabbed your gun and walked out, instead you gave them a hailstorm of bullets.*

"And leave all that ammo and plasmids to a bunch of murderous addicts? No unlike you I actually think about these things in the long term."

*Goodness, I still wonder how you manage to do all that while taking care of a fragile child.*

"Enough", I said infuriated "I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you, some degenerate rich shit who ain't even real. Now if you don't mind I'd li-"

"YOU BASTARD"

I turned around and to my surprise the head splicer was still alive. Blood continued to come out of him and yet he was moving like nothing happened. "Now you've pissed me off, just wait til'-"

 _BANG_

A gunshot came from his behind and went right through his head. The head splicer fell to the floor in an instance. Suddenly three men came through the shop door, they were heavily armed with tommy guns and carbines. Worse yet they all pointed their guns right at me. I simply pointed back, not daring to fire just yet.

"Put the gun down." Said one of the men, he had an Irish accent. Could this be? "We're not acting the maggot, put the gun down now."

"You Atlas?" I asked him

He looked at me in disbelief then started laughing heavily. "You some sort of langer? No I'm not bloody Atlas, put your gun down then we talk?"

"My name is Will Sullivan, I'm an operative of the CIA who's been sent down here to extract a delicate package. I need to know the whereabouts of two people who are in here, and I'm reckoning Atlas knows exactly where they are." I said, hoping that these men were affiliated with Atlas.

"Listen any sane man here is a friend, we work for Atlas, drop the gun and no harm will be done, after you do that, we'll send you straight to the boss." Said the irishman insistently.

It seems like even now, in a place like this, Atlas and his followers are able to maintain some level of civility, something that was not common to me when entering a warzone. I dropped my weapon and put my hands up. One of the men quickly came up to me and began checking me for any weapons I might be carrying. After he was done the irishman came to me, smiled, and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Technically you are a friend to Atlas as of now, nevertheless, you understand the need for precautions, don't ya' wanker."

"I'm sorry wh-"

 _BAM_

I felt the back of the gun hit my head and I fell to the floor, slowly losing consciouness until I could see nothing but the availing darkness consume my sight. I was played. How the hell did I let that happen? I should have known better than to trust the likes of strangers, especially in a place like this. Still, I was not dead, and that had to count for something. Wherever I would be sent off next, it would surely be better than this place. I slowly regained consciousness, the first thing I saw was, strangely enough, a junebox, it was playing _April in Paris_ by Ella Fitzgerald _._ I took a good look at the rest of the room, it was an office, one that was somehow preserved to perfection; the marble was clear, the sleak wooden office table was completely intact, and there were pictures all across the office of a man and his family. I took a deep breath and calmed myself. I was safe, not a single splicer to be found. I tried to get out of the chair but then noticed I was not able to get out. There were harnesses on both my hands that were attached to the chair. Just my luck, I was once again chained up and motionless. Suddenly a door behind me opened and then walked in a tall, fit caucasion man in his mid-30s. He had brown hair and wore simple working clothes, not something you would expect when it came to an office like this.

"Apologize for me' mens bruteness, hope they didn't leave too harsh a wound. Trying to maintain some level of civility down here is murder, we've all become paranoid dopes." Said the man. Like the one I met before him, he had a strong Irish accent. This must be Atlas, it would explain the comfortable accomodations and the matter in which he exerts himself. "But onto business, me' man Shelby says you want something from me, information he says."

"I'm looking for a small girl by the name of Elena, she was sent down here a few months ago. You know anything about that?" I said, trying to hide the fact that she was my daughter and that I had any emotional ties with her.

"Can't say I have, most folks down here are political prisoners, assailants of Fontaines Crime Ring, and the splicers he cooked up. Ryan wouldn't send a wee babby girl down here, that's too cruel, even for him."

I was puzzled by this, everything I was told about Elena led me here, and now this man, this Atlas, tells me otherwise? Something was not right, I got confirmation from numerous sources that she was down here. Either Atlas is truly ignorant on the matter or he's lying. "I have sources that tell me otherwise."

"If there was a girl down here, I'd be the first to know. More importantly I'd make sure she's under the best protection I could give her from those God ridden splicers. I won't stand having children hurt on my watch. That's beside the point, is there anything else you need from me or are you simply doddering."

" . . . by any chance do you know someone that goes by the name Elizabeth?"

He then looked at me with a stroke of curiousity. "What do you want with that scanger?"

"So you do know her." I said

"Met a few hours ago, I negotiated terms of employment with her and now this Elizabeth serves my cause."

"And what is this noble cause you so solemnly serve?"

"I serve the desitutes, the disenfranchised, those who no longer have a say in this miserable tip. I aim to go back to Rapture and give back that which was once everyones. Justice will be served to those who mistreated us. We're going to finally wake those bourgeoisie bastards out of their slumber."

"A revolution." I said to him, the format of what he was saying can only mean that. The destitutes rise up against the affluent, I have seen this before countless times. The uninitiated and underarmed citizens rise up and act against their well armed and financed authoritatrian government. The only thing that comes out of that is a wave of bullets and in some cases, a white mist that strectches for miles on the countryside.

"Exactly that boyo. The world is shifting and we have to stay the course, those who stray from it will be left behind with nothing but soot to hold them. Ryan is straying from the path, as have countless others. It's our responsibility to show them the right one again. I could use a man of your caliber, you being a CIA man and all. We'd make quite the team."

"Sorry, I got a mission of my own I need to finish. I just need some info on Elizabeth and I'll be on my way." I said, about to stand up. Only to remember I was still chained up to his chair. Atlas took out a pack of cigarettes from his drawer and lit one.

"Never liked smoking fags, me' wife hated them. She was no scrubber, I could tell you that. Myra was something else, a ripe pain in the neck, but a beauty nonetheless. We had it good for a time. . . now its gone to hell, and the only thing I have left living for is to get these poor bastards outta' this place. I'm asking you to find it in your heart to help us. Most of these chaps are here because they went against the Ryan ideology, that's it. The mans a godless heathen who needs to be put down."

I know I should have just moved on and asked to leave, but what he said pulled a trigger on me. I was not able to help myself and asked. "What happened to your wife?"

"She died here, along with me' child. I had their bodies cremated and keep their ashes close to me." He said to me, he then pulled out a large can from one of his drawers and placed it in front of me. "One day, when this mess is done, I'm going back to Ireland to climb the highest peak in the Ring of Kerry and from there, I'll let them go, knowing they can rest in peace in a place they loved."

" . . . I'm sorry for your loss."

"You have a wife and kids Sullivan?" Atlas said, blowing out smoke from his mouth

"A wife and a little girl." I said to him. I still did not want to tell him my intent for coming here so I decided to fabricate the story to a certain degree. "Both of them are at the surface, safe from here."

"That's a relief." He said, putting his cigarette in the ashtray. We were sitting down quietly, not saying a word to one another for minutes, we were just staring at an empty desk. He then offered me a cigarette in which I accepted. In places like these it's hard to find comfort of any sort, so I took it without a seconds hesitation. I drew in my breath and let in the indiscernible smoke. Then I let it out, along with a smatter of certainties. Moral ambiguity was prevalent here, I did not know what my next steps were once again. People herald this Atlas as if he were some liberator that vowed to vanquish the oppressors. All I saw was another idealist who's trying to make his way. But I could be wrong, he lost his entire family to Ryan's wrath. In that sense I sympathized with him. No one should have to stay in this hellhole, and if I could do something to change that, should I? This whole notion of fighting for the greater good was one that was either genuine, or full of treachery. I finished smoking the cigarette and put it in the ashtray.

"I'll help your crusade, but only if you give me Elizabeth's location."

He gave a look of surprise, then a smile. "Welcome aboard soldier."

Atlas stood up and headed out of the office. I was confused by this. I give my services to him and he walks away without telling me what I need? "Hey, HEY. Elizabeth's location remember?"

"Before I give you that information, there's a wee thing I need you to do for me. Once that bit of grand business is done, I'll tell ya' where your girl is. Deal?" He said, taking out a key from his pocket.

"You said-"

"We did not discuss the specifics of our arrangment, I'm telling you what they are now. Do this, and you'll have earned my trust." He said, unlocking me from my shackles. He was showing off an unusual amount of trust in me by letting me go, considering that we just met. Still, I have to be cautious in my business with him, his intentions might be noble, but he's nevertheless a schemer, wanting everything to go on by his hand.

"Atlas I don't have time, leaving her in a place like this? She won't last a day!"

"I've met the girl, believe me she's ferocious that one, she can take care of herself. In the meantime concentrate on what's going on with you. The faster you finish this chore of mine, the quicker you'll get her location. You understand mucker?"

" . . . Alright what do you want me to do?"

"It's a simple matter really, you see in a few days we're leaving this place, all of us. We're going back to Rapture, but before that we need you to get a package for us. In the secondary building there's a warehouse shop, inside the shop there's a room behind the counter that contains a delicate package. Once you get it, bring it back to me and our arrangement is done, hopefully you'll continue to help us gimps afterward."

"If it means getting out of here then I'm on board." I said to him, pulling out my hand to shake his. He responded and our negotiations officially ended.

"There's two more thing; One is I'm sending one of me' men to escort you, make sure you get the job done." He said to me with a discerning look. "Second, before you head out, you need a makeover."

"Heh, look, Atlas, I'm what you would call a lone wolf." I told him "I work alone, it makes my job a hell of a lot easier. Second, I'm working with you, not for you, no makeover is required on my part."

"Cop on! It's not an option, I have no doubt you could play the lone wolf. Thing is we really don't know each other. I can't tell if you're a chancer or a noble character, so for now you're just a wanker to me, and you need to prove otherwise. Second, what the hell are you babbering about, I'm talking about a genetic makeover."

" . . . You can't mean." I was not able to finish my sentence, the instant he mentioned genetic change, I knew exactly what he wanted from me.

"In truth, no matter how deadly you are at blowing things to hell, you won't last a day down here without ADAM. We can't make any sort of arrangement together unless you agree to take it." Atlas said insistently

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're free to go as you will, though I'm not inclined in anyway to tell you the wherabouts of Elizabeth if you do so."

Well, he most definitely was no fool, holding his bargaining chips like his life depended on it, and from the looks of it, that certainly was the case. It was either this or I search the entire department store for my little girl and Elizabeth. I was not in a position to put my faith in him just yet, but it looks like he could use the help, and to him I was the providence he needed.

"So be it", I said to him, waiting for the grabbing and bagging that was yet to come. Atlas clicked some sort of button on his desk and suddenly two men came in and grabbed my shoulders. Atlas then put his hands up and they let go.

"Before you head off and leave everything in tatters, I have to know, what does the girl mean to you? Why risk your life for the bird?" Atlas asked

I paused when he asked that question because in truth, I myself did not know why I was adamently going after her. All I knew was that she was the person to go to when it came to saving Elena. I had no concrete evidence nor did I know her enough to know that, but it was a strong gut feeling. I could not tell Atlas that, god knows he would think I was a compulsive stalker or worse yet a liar. No, it had to be something more personal.

"You know, I met a fella by the name of Sander at one point during my stay here. Elizabeth auditioned to be his songbird, so to speak. After the audition ended he told me that at one point this femme fatale, this Elizabeth, was nothing more than a naive little girl. Then men with visions of grandeur and uncontrollable lust came and took away her most precious attribute, innocence. Now she's trying to give those who were exploited by our vicious nature a second chance. I'm going to join her and end this cycle of blood Ryan's perpetuating." I told Atlas. He was startled by my answer, as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.

". . . The Little Sisters?" Atlas said

"I'm sorry what?"

"Get out," he said to me, his men grabbed my arms and then came a bag over my head. Everything was pitch black, I was forced up and then dragged out of his office. So the cycle begins once more.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Thirty minutes in and a bag was still over my head. Men dragged me out of Atlas's office and like that the process repeated itself. An omnious silence crept, darkness lingered, it all felt so familiar. The calm before the squall, until the next batch of splicers show up. I was dreading my next inevitable encounter with them. The only thing I could hope for now was that I would be ready next time. I heard a door open and suddenly the silence was replaced by the chattering of men and the rustling of objects.

The bag on my head was removed and what stood before me was the storm that would wake the elite. I was in a large room that contained tables holding a ludicrous sum of weapons. On the side were boxes full of posters and dark red banners. Organizing all this were thirty plus men; all of who were disgruntled, stern and battle ready. It was truly a sight to behold, I never seen the inside operations of a revolt. Usually I was the man that stoppped such things. But circumstances have changed since the CIA no longer operated here, which in turn had made me a very desperate man.

"Welcome to Pete's Caliber Warehouse, go to the far left and talk to Lonnie, he'll set you up with the rest of your crew and you'll be on your way." Said one of the men who escorted me. He soon left my side and started helping the rest of the men with their work. I followed what he said and walked my way to this Lonnie. The set up was very elaborate, there were dozens of crates carrying weapons of all sorts; semi automatic luger pistols, tommy guns, pump action shotguns. Cuban revolutionaries would salivate at the sight of this. On top of that Atlas had an absurd amount of man power, all of who seemed to be battle hardened. Judging from the apparel, they were probably the grunts of Fontaines smuggling empire, unloading crate after crate of contraband items. To Ryan, these men were the lowest of scum. So when someone like Atlas comes along promising to vanquish their oppressor, they flock to his side without a seconds hesitation. But what was Atlas's end game? With all these weapons at his disposal, he could kill a lot of people. Was he really a champion of the destitutes and disenfranchised or did he have another agenda?

It did not matter, he was just a means to an end for me. Whatever he did down here was not my concern. The only concern I had was to get Elena and any other child living here out of this place, before this revolution takes place. Once that begins there will be no safe haven, no shelter that can protect them from the hailstorm of bullets that was to come.

"Hey, hey! You, right there?" said a man from the otherside of the room. I turned my head to see who was calling out my name. A tall black man came up to me, he was unshaven and had ragged clothing, but was built and carried a strong presence.

"What is it?"

"Heh, Shelby told me about you, says you're some CIA man. Where's the rest of your kind?" he said in a forceful tone.

"Either dead or incarcerated, now if you don't mind I have a meeting in the next room." I said frustratingly. I started to walk again until suddenly this man stopped me by putting his hand on my chest. He was testing my patience.

"Hey back off pal, I don't want any trouble."

"Really?" he said laughing profusely "You come here and say to my face that there ain't no trouble? Well let me tell you, You bastards, your fucking agency, forced me to come down to this shithole."

"And you are?"

"Marcus Hill, former right hand man of mob boss Bumpy Johnson. That is until the CIA started trailing me everywhere I went. Bumpy let me go due to me becoming a liability, a fucking liability!" he said in a frenetic rage "The only man who would give me a job was Fontaine, and all I did was unload crates for him. Then he died and we were sent here. Your pals at the agency took everything from me, so don't tell me you ain't got no beef."

I looked at him in disbelief and then gave out a small laugh. His statement was actually amusing, it gave me a full picture of what really went down. Of course he grew angry by this, grabbed my shirt tightly, and then picked me up, or at least attempted to.

"You got something to say? Huh!" he said, getting angrier by the second.

"Yeah I do, you're a dipshit."

" . . . What did you say?" he said surprised, his face growing red with anger by the second.

"You actually think the CIA gives a shit about you? Some low life domestic, key word DOMESTIC, criminal? You see it's the FBI's job to give a rat's ass about scumbags like you, we handle cases like the de-escalation of The Cold War, the dethroning of some senseless fascist dictator, and loads of paperwork. So for you to come to me and say that we ruined your life is some fantasy you conjured up. In truth your boss, Bumpy, probably let you go because you were too stupid to get anything right, if you even worked for a mob boss that is."

"You little shi-"

I did not let him finish his sentence and immediately jabbed my fist on his throat, possibly causing his windpipe to collapse. Marcus fell to the floor stunned while at the same time gasping for air. He looked at me with wide, shocked eyes at how easily I managed to put him down. But it did not have the effect I was hoping for. I assumed that this would show everyone here to back off, instead they all pulled out their guns and pointed them at me; all 30 of the men. It was hardly a standoff when you are outnumbered thirty to one.

"Stand down!" yelled a man from across the room. All of the men put their guns down. I looked the other way and out came a older looking man; unlike the rest of this lot which consisted of top brass men at the prime of their youth. This must be Lonnie.

"You two, pick up Marcus and treat his throat," he said, the two men complied and took him out of the room. "As for you Sullivan, step into my office, now!"

And so I complied as well, he had a menacing authoritative presence. I knew immediately that I would not want to get on the wrong side of that temper. I walked away from the crowd of men, who were all staring in awe at me, as if I performed a grand act of sorts. Maybe it has to do with the faint chance that I was still alive, I could not believe it myself. A few hours here and I nearly got killed three times, yet I survived all attempts. Maybe some sort of supernatural presence was watching me from above. Some would profess that it was God; while others would say it might be aliens from Mars. I say it's a combination of skills and luck, nothing more. Something like this does not deserve excessive pondering and thought. I stepped inside Lonnie's office. It was not nearly as glamourous or appealing as Atlas's office, but it was functional enough. To be offered a space for the sake of privacy is a blessing in this hell.

"Two minutes and you already stirred a ruckus amongst my men, let me guess, you're from New York." Lonnie said. He had a thick composed German accent. There was certainly something imposing about him, he did not seem to be your traditional cargo loader.

"No, Chicago actually, what started the ruckus was my association with the CIA. But that's not relevant, I was told to meet with you. Presumably so you can introduce me to my new companions?"

"Yes, and to change your genetic code in it's entirety, giving you the ability to wield things like lightning and fire at the palm of your hand." Said Lonnie enthusiastically. "It's quite the venture, I can assure you that much. One just needs the courage to take the first steps. Tell me Mr. Sullivan, are you a lion or a chicken."

"I'm in whichever side that chooses sanity and a peace of mind. I've seen what these things do, turn you into freaks of nature that go on a rampant killing spree just for a bit of juice. What's to say I won't turn into one of those things, those splicers?" I said to him, waiting for some sort of reassuring response. If their was none, then it would be a one way trip for me, and Elena would have to return to the surface without me. What other choice did I have?

"I am assuming you are unaware of that piece of Rapture's history. There are two factors that made these poor rascals turn into vile creatures, one was that the ADAM that splicers used was . . . less refined than the current product. At a time when Fontaine was still breathing, our understanding of ADAM was rudimentary and the alpha product produced many negative side effects on the general consumer as you can see; physical and mental deterioration were just the tip of the iceberg. Worse was the high level of addiction it produced, making this product irresistable to the average person. Tenenbaum, the geneticist who discovered ADAM, saw the moral repercussions of selling such a product, but it was too late. She was under the employment of Frank Fontaine, a man who lacked general humanity and ignored the consequences of mass producing it, because in his eyes there were no consequences. He would make a large sum of money and never look back at what he's done. But that is besides the point. Simply put, we use beta plasmids, the level of addiction is very minimal compared to the alpha. Now for the second point, those who became splicers were weak willed and weak minded. They chose pleasure over duty and never had to undergo the harsh reality of things. You know of what I speak of, being a man of the CIA I'm sure you had your fair share of hardships and loss. In turn, using something like this will have little to no ramifications on your mental stability, that I am sure of."

"Then why don't you use any?" I said, Lonnie seemed perfectly healthy, mentally and physically. For the beta to be so radically different from the alpha seemed absurd to me. Like that, they were able to get rid of the problem of addiction and deterioration. It all just seemed wrong.

"As a matter of fact, I've already taken my fair share." Said Lonnie, he pulled up his sleeve and showed me his arm. I could see where the needles pierced it, though it did not look infected. "No symptoms, no splicer attributes. Though there is one thing I must caution you on."

"And what's that?"

"Once you take your first dosage, a part of what you were before vanishes. To fill that void, a beast takes it place. One of which the likes you will never see come to being on the surface. When it comes down to it, only you can determine whether to repel that brute for a lifetime or to let it consume you and make itself whole. Because no matter how hard you try to rid yourself of it, that monster will follow you where ever you go. Do you understand?"

"Believe me . . . that monster is already inside me."

"No, it's not even close . . . when it is . . . believe me, you will know."

Suddenly Lonnie's office door opened and in came a short white man. He had thick blonde hair and looked like he was in his mid 30s.

"We're ready," he said to Lonnie

"Wonderful, ah Sullivan, this is Garvey Rockefeller, a veteran of the Korean War. He will be accompanying you on your trip to secure that package we so adamentally need, along with two of his men. They will also be the ones holding you down when you get your first dosage of ADAM."

"Holding me down?" I asked curiously

"We're rewriting your genetic code, you did not think any pain will be involved?"

" . . . Let's just get it over with," I said to Lonnie. I exited the office and followed Garvey to wherever I had to go. Once again everyone in the room was staring at me, stopping whatever work there were doing to see me undergo my transformation. The silence was almost unbearable, no distractions to keep me from thinking of the pain that was to come. In the center of the room was an empty table and around it were two men, probably the ones that would accompany me.

"Get on the table and lay down," said Garvey in a commanding tone

I listened and lied myself down, now all I was able to see was a bright light staring right back at me. The two men then grabbed my arms and held down my chest. Then came Garvey holding the one thing I truly feared in this hellhole, the reason why I was sent down here: a bottle of plasmid. The liquid was a glowing blue and was moving inside the syringe, as if it were alive.

"Pull your arm out, and hold on to something."

"Why, what the hell is this?" I asked

"Just do it"

And so I did, I held on to the table with one hand and left my other one open so it can receive the shot. Both of my hands were shaking and sweat was dripping off my face. If there was one thing I truly feared, it was heading into the unknown without any intelligence or guarantees. And this was exactly that, a tilted gamble with no way out. And like that, Garvey injected it into my system. It felt, cold and heavy, a chill ran through my body, yet there was no pain. I let go of the table.

"Sullivan, don't-"

Like lightning, it all hit without a seconds notice. I felt my insides twisting and turning, my veins growing in size and fury, my eye sockets about to burst, chemicals were surging through every portion of my body. It was all too much . . . and it would not stop . . . please make it stop . . . MAKE IT STOP!

"Hold him down, NOW!"


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

"Sullivan"

My eyes opened instantly and a burst of energy swayed throughout my body. I began to look frantically without any given purpose. Then something held me down, it looked like a hand.

"Hey, take it easy, this ain't the time," said a man

I looked at him in awe and bewilderment, it felt like a turbulence of some sort was instigating behind him. A perilous ride on a mountain top, yes that was what it was, or what it felt like, whatever it was. Everything somehow felt surreal, I could feel this unwavering energy surging through me, as if nothing but adreneline was flowing through my blood stream.

"Look alive, we got tengos coming in" said the man, my vision began to clear and then I realized it was Garvey. He was taking cover on some sort of desk along with two other men. All of them were armed to the teeth; tommy guns, grenades, lugers, you name it.

"Here take this," said Garvey, he handed me a tommy gun and a bag of ammunition, which I wholeheartedly accepted it. I took a good look at where I was and realized I no longer was in a safe zone, rather I was back in the hyenas den. The ruined rooms, the blood soaked floors, the ominous silence, it all came back to haunt me. I picked myself up and peeked my head out to see what Garvey was looking at. On the otherside of the room were three splicers, all of them were knocking on a door trying to get in.

"Come on Billy, there ain't no harm in sharing, be a good Christian and let me have some!" said one of the splicers

"Hey you see all that water they're standing on?" said Garvey, pointing at an puddle that was growing by the minute, in which all three splicers were standing on. "Blast it and a shockwave will form, immobilizing all of them. Then we'll take care of the rest, you think you can handle that?"

"Yes," I said with more confidence than I had ever felt. I knew exactly what they were talking about, blue currents were flowing through my veins and were just waiting to burst out. It was time to show these monsters what I was made of. I stood up, pointed my hand at the puddle, and a blue current of electricity surged out of my hand. The current hit the water and multiplied, hitting every splicer that stood on it. They were shaking and screaming like mad dogs as volts of electricity hit their bodies, then Garvey and his men came up and put them down with their lugers.

It was enthralling; the thrill of letting out the supernatural, the immediate ease of taking out splicers. It felt all too gratifying, I no longer dreaded my next encounter with these fiends, but was anticipating it.

*Well I'll be damned, this ADAM contraption works wonders! Turning men into brutish, efficient killing machines without a hint of that god awful sympathy malfunction. Stellar stuff really, perfect if you want to avoid the hassle of children* said a familiar voice, one in which I had not heard for a brief time; John Buchanan. The excitement and jitteriness I felt faded as the realization of things hit me; why I was here, why I needed to get out. How could have I forgotten?

"What took you so long?" I asked John

*Well you had company, didn't want to impede in anyway*

"I'm still with that company."

*Whenever you go off course from your primary task I interfere in some, shallow, mundane matter*

"Why?"

*I don't know!* He said sounding irritated *Probably some sort of higher functioning I have going on that automatically makes me signal out a response to you everytime you stray from your current course. It's all mumbo jumbo that comes splattering out more ferociously than paint for cubist art.*

"Hey! Who are you talking to?" said Garvey

"Nobody, just childhood habits," I said to reassure him

"Well quit it, that's a splicer symptom, last thing I need is for you to nerve up my men." Garvey ordered, and so I complied. Garvey's men then barged through the door the splicers were trying to get into just earlier. Inside was another splicer waiting right at the door. It panicked and tried to run, but with a flick of a finger from Garvey, the splicer lit on fire. It ran frantically through a hallway screaming, trying to find something to put it out. But within seconds it fell to the ground and became a burnt crisp. We searched the room and found a shotgun with some 12 guage shells, three syringes of ADAM, and a bottle of plasmid that had the label 'Incinerate'.

"Here take this," Garvey said, handing me the bottle. "It'll give you the ability to mimic what I just did, believe me you don't want to miss out."

"I'll use it when I need it," I said to Garvey, remembering Buchanan's "signal". My priority was to find Elizabeth who will in turn lead me to my daughter. Killing splicers was a secondary objective. I took the plasmid and put it in my bag. Meanwhile we exited the room and entered a large hallway that was leading to a bathysphere station, we were enroute to the secondary complex of the Department Store to receive that package Atlas desperately needs, whatever it was.

We soon entered the bathysphere station which was completely desolate. All the docks were empty except for two; one was damaged beyond repair, the other one seemed manageble enough to fix, so we headed to that one and began our repairs. One of Garvey's men was in charge of that. The rest of us kept watch to see if any more splicers will show.

"So what's your story?" Garvey asked me "You probably have one that's worth telling, especially now that you're down here."

"Would you believe me if I told you that it's confidental?" I said to him

"Being that you're an employee for the CIA, I'd imagine everything from your marriage is confidential." He said, I gave him a confused look, not sure what he was implying there. He got the message and said, "Which it should be, no man should pry into another mans business, especially when it comes to their prized gem."

"You married?" I asked Garvey

"Maybe, maybe not. Most likely divorced."

"Now that seems like a story worthy of telling." I said to him in a joking like matter

"There's not much to it." He said to me "The day Fontaine was killed was the day all his grunts were arrested and sent down here, I was one of them. My wife and I didn't know what he was doing in his so called "House for the Poor". So when I was caught and Ryan announced what Fontaine was doing, she assumed I was involved. Before I had a chance to explain, one of Ryan's goons grabbed me and put me on an all express ride to a bathysphere leading to The Department Store; like that I was cast away. So right now she's under the assumption I'm a cold blooded killer with a superiority complex and an obsession with killing the needy, end of story."

"Sorry to hear, I'm sure once you get up their you can explain the whole thing to her." I said, trying to reassure him.

"What's the point," he said indifferently, which came to me as a surprise. He then continued by saying "I've been in here for a long time and accepted the fact that she probably met some guy and started anew. Probably has a kid by now scurring around on the floor and the apartment of her dreams. In all honesty I could care less about her. You're new here so I'll give you some advice, after a few days of killing splicers and wandering around deserted shopping malls, you're priorities start to change. It becomes less about going back to your loved ones or just simply getting out of here and more about things like payback. When I met Atlas, he promised me that he'll get me and the rest of the guys back to Rapture and that the first thing we do is wake those bourgeoisie bastards from their slumber. That became my number one aspiration, so to speak. And believe me, you'll come around."

"It's ready," screamed Garvey's repairman. We all made haste to the bathysphere and set coordinates to the secondary building. Like that we started our descent from the station and exited the central building. Garvey and his men put their guns down and took a breather, I did the same. I took a seat on one of the leather chairs and shut my eyes. This was going to be at least a ten minute ride, giving me plenty of time for shut eye. Then something came to mind which made me curious. I opened my eyes and then asked Garvey, "I don't think I was formally introduced."

"Shit, that's right. This is Bobby Hendricks, our weapons specialist. And this is Dennis Tipperman, our tech specialist. Sorry for the late introductions, but hey, bonding is stronger when killing splicers becomes our number one chore. Small talk is pointless; especially with this lot."

"So . . . knowing their names is just, small talk?" I asked curiously, obviously these men came from a very different social circle, a minority group in the face of the rest of society.

"Who're you to judge?" said Dennis in a very annoyed matter "You being a CIA man I'd expect you to understand. In shitholes like these we can't afford the luxury of friends or loved ones. They'd all end up dead faster than we can react to it. Best thing we can do is go about our days trying to fulfill a goal, cuzz those never die. Those are something you can depend on always being there."

"Hey I lost my share of friends, but I moved on," I said defensively "Giving up on your humanity is the wrong way to go, believe me I've been there. It's good for nothing but separating you from those you care about. It's a miserable life."

Dennis started laughing and then said "Let me tell you something so you don't get too lost in that idealist mindset. Once, I had someone I cared about. A good dependable man, we always had each others backs. Then one day, it all ended. Shit like that, bonding or whatever you call it, it's only good for one thing, getting you killed."

"Knock it off!" Garvey screamed "Now we gotta mission to finish and I can't have you busting the new guys balls while splicers are on our tail. So suck it up, pick up your weapon and get your shit together."

Dennis was silent and complied, though he also gave me a blank, hateful glare. I had to watch out for this one, he was quick to react with emotions. We arrived at the docking port of the secondary building and everyone picked up their gear. Garvey took a seat next to me and gave a large sigh.

"Sorry about that, Dennis has been jumpy ever since he lost his man. He acts like this to all newcomers, give it a little time and he'll come around." Garvey said, trying to reassure me.

"How long do you expect to be up here?" I asked

"If everything goes smoothly, two hours at most. If not, we'll be here for the long haul."

Soon we arrived at the station and the bathysphere hatch opened. Dennis and Bobby quickly got out while Garvey waited for me. I was hesistant, the more splicers I had to fight, the more plasmids I'll end up using. The more of that stuff I take, the less human I become. If I come back home will Jessica even recognize me? Will Elena?

"Hey Sully, you ready?"

I took a long, deep breath and then said, " . . . Yeah, let's go."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

"What the hell?" Surprise and bewilderment entered my system the instant I entered the station. Unlike the one in the primary building, this one was actually . . . clean. No blood stained floor or an influx of broken glass. Aside from a few bulletholes here and there, It all looked polished and maintained. Surely something went on in here.

"Keep your eyes open," said Garvey "Primary building, secondary building, it doesn't make a difference. They're all littered with splicers."

We walked slowly and carefully through the station wary of what was to come next. The place was completely deserted, which was already a sign that something was wrong. But in the distance I heard an echo, that echo turned into a song, a melodic song sung by some French artist. It came out of a phonograph behind the ticket counter. Was this supposed to give me comfort?

"Something's not right, Ryan littered this place with the splicers Fontaine mustered. There dogs bred to wreak chaos anywhere they set foot in. So what the hell is this?" Dennis said nervously, and rightfully so. We expected to simply enter another warzone and fight the rabid dogs that were splicers. To see something like this, this cleanliness, it's beyond reason. Have they somehow come to some sort of consensus and are working as one unit? The thought of such a thing gave me shudders, I could not fathom it. I went up to Garvey's back and then whispered to him. "We should head back and reconvene with the rest of the group. Something tells me that these guys are a hell of a lot more organized than the one back at central."

"No, it's a simple task: get the package from the wearhouse and come back to Atlas with it. It's a job we should have no problems with."

As we moved on, I noticed something hanging on the wall. As I went closer I realized it was a poster of sorts. I walked to it to see what it was. There was a picture of an middle aged man holding a hammer and wearing workers clothes. It said 'Join The New Bolshevik Revolution', 'Live like Equals and Liberate Yourself from the Oppressors Above'. I grabbed it and then said "Hey Garvey, what do you make of this?"

He went up to me, took a good look at the poster and then gave a face of disbelief. "That's William Rustamav, he was the head of the Communist movement in Rapture until Ryan tossed him and his supporters down here for apparently trying to stir violent riots in the Promenades."

"Apparently?" I said in confusion

"You never know with Ry-"

"Shhhh", whispered Bobby as he took cover on a nearby column. "We have company."

We all took cover near a row of benches. I heard the scurring of feet at the end of the station, from the sound of it there was around six men on the other side. We took out our Tommy guns and prepared for the worst. But the sound of moving feet ended. I took a peek from the bench and saw no one on the otherside. Were they trying to surround us?

SHHHIIINNNGGG

Suddenly all the lights turned off and zero visibiliy entered into the equation. At this point I did not even dare to peek my head out. Damn it we were not prepared for this; no flashlights, no torch sticks. All we could depend on at this point was sound. Then that luxury ended as a loud screeching noise came on from speakers nearby and then it came into focus.

 _Greetings gentlemen! I hate to disturb you at such an early hour, but a new development has arisen. One that seeks to destroy everything we've built here. Four of Atlas's henchmen have just arrived at our station . . . I want them dead. The first man to complete this service will be rewarded with ten full syringes of ADAM. As for the ill-mannered crusadors that seek to taint my home, I have only this to say . . . the only thing that awaits you beyond this station is a scourge of bullets, turn back now, or become one of the many rotting corpses that fill this hell._

The speakers fell silent after the speech, an menacing stillness crept into the room. I could hear nothing but heavy breathing coming out of my peers. Ambient noise echoed throughout the station, building up the inevitable clash that was to come. I made the first move by peeking out of the bench to see where the enemy lied.

"Nothing," I whispered to Garvey

"What?" he said confused and shaken

"I can't see-"

 _BAM_

Lights went on all across the otherside of the room, completely blinding me. It was then that I realized how serious of a predicament we were in.

"Spotlights," I said completely horror struck and befuddlement. "GET DOW-"

 _BANG BANG BANG_

The stillness was instantly broken by the crackle of gunfire. Bullets wheezed passed our heads, destroying all that was around us. Large caliber guns tore through the marble columns, bullets dashed across us by the hundreds, as if it were a locust horde. I look to my side only to see my peers succumb to panic. They did not dare look up and were quivering behind the bench. Soon the earsplitting gunfire took hold of me and I became disoriented. My vision began to blur and I could not balance myself. It was all coming back, the harsh reality of things that were and will be. There was no way out, nowhere to run too, nowhere to hide. We were trapped. Perhaps . . . It was time to fall asleep, accept my fate and join my father. Only then can I truly repent for the sins I have committed. Yes it was time to let the torch die and never let this fate befall another one of my kin. I closed my eyes, lowered my gun, and was prepared to embrace the scourge of bullets.

" _Daddy", echoed a familiar voice_

 _My eyes widened in disbelief, it was Elena. I looked back and forth to see where she was, but all that was left was an infinite field of darkness stretching beyond any perceivable means._

" _Elena, dear, where are you?" I screamed at the top of my lungs_

" _Will", said a voice, I looked around to see where all the upheaval was coming from. I soon found myself running aimlessly, having no clear pattern to guide my way; nothing._

"WILL!" screamed Garvey; I opened my eyes only to see myself back in the unforgiving warzone. The amount of bullets flying past me disseminated all across the station, the marble columns were in shambles, and the bench would not hold up for much longer.

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm here," I said in complete shock, words became nothing more but hollow whispers in this perilous storm. Bullets were shredding through everything and here were Garvey and I holding on to dear life. But where were Bobby and Dennis?

"Will, I gave you a dose of that plasmid I was talking about, now listen u-"

BANG

The bench finally wore out as a bullet went through it and grazed Garvey's arm. He let out a groan and then pushed me away to the far left of the bench, where the damage was not nearly as severe.

"Goddamnit!" Garvey screamed while covering his injured arm. He looked at me with an angry glare and grabbed my shirt. "I don't have time for this!"

I did not have enough time to ponder on what he meant; a red gas began to gravitate towards us and was increasing in size and speed. It was then spiraling around me and Garvey, moving in lightning velocity; I could see nothing but an all encompassing red blurring my vision.

"Shit they got teleport, mow them dow-"

The man's voice faded away, along with the sound of bullets hurling towards us; everything was silent. The smoke cleared out and I let out a gasp. We were in a different room entirely, one that was far less spacious than the station. I look at Garvey in disbelief, unable to contemplate what had just transpired.

"What the hell was that?" I said stunned and paralyzed.

"What was that?" he said incredulously with an irate demeanor. He then grabbed my shirt and pulled me toward him with great force. "What the hell were you doing? Nearly got us all killed!"

"I . . . I" I was lost in words, unable to express what was going on in my head. Everything was spiraling out of control, and there was no elucidation that could unravel this mess.

"Look at me you moronic piece of shit!" Garvey screamed. The clutter began to clear and my attention turned to him. "I'm not babysitting your incompetent ass, the next time we're in a firefight; I won't be there to bail you out, you hear me?"

"Won't happen again," I said disgruntled, how did I let this happen? Freezing up during a gunfight? That's not me. Whatever the hell I was thinking of back there, I had to let it go. Elena is in this hellhole and I needed to get her out. This was not the time to grieve over my past transgressions and follies. What I was doing here meant progression, for myself and for my family. A life where I could let go of all these encumber some tasks and come back to the one thing that actually mattered and meant something to me. No more moral dilemmas and depravity, rather I will have a life bursting with moral clarity and uprightness. I had to overcome these grievances that have come back to haunt me. Only then can I ever truly hope to have a wholesome life.

"Where are the others?" I asked, picking myself up, ready for whatever came next.

"I made contact with Dennis, he said he's in some sort of convenience store. We're going to rendezvous with him there and rethink this whole catastrophe. Haven't made contact with Bobby yet, so Dennis is the priority." Garvey said with a look of concern, he then put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Sully, when we get out of here, remember to keep your head down and follow my lea-"

"Don't worry about me, done this sort of thing plenty of times before."

"Right," said Garvey a bit annoyed, getting out his bandage and covering his injured arm. "That's why I almost got my arm blown off, right? No offence, but follow my lead."

I was irritated by just how much he saw it as a necessity to baby me, but he had a fair point, measures have to be taken to compensate for my incompetence and this seemed appropriate. I nodded my head in agreement and we headed out of the room. Into the devil's lair we went.


End file.
